


Blurred Lines

by Raziel



Category: 19th Century CE RPF
Genre: #BlurredLines, #Melbourne, F/M, M/M, Queen Victoria - Freeform, Raziel - Freeform, Vicbourne, William Lamb - Freeform, blurred lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 94,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raziel/pseuds/Raziel
Summary: Thank you all for reading my first effort. When I read of Melbourne's last, sad years in that reality I decided I would try to do better:)





	1. Chapter 1

1840

William Lamb, Second Viscount Melbourne, hoped for nothing but a quiet dinner at his club and perhaps brandy shared with some convivial old cronies. Unfortunately a small group of young bucks, having just arrived, was causing something of a stir amongst staff and other gentlemen, lending rather more exuberance to the normally staid atmosphere than was usual at this time of day

Melbourne debated whether to leave or endure the high spirits within when he was hailed. Too late to withdraw, he resigned himself and joined the Home Secretary and Lord Palmerston.

Melbourne exchanged desultory gossip with his dining companions but his demeanor was so morose as to put a damper on the conversation. He ignored the pointed looks from Emily’s husband, who knew him well enough to dare.

Well over a month, he thought. The longest period he and the Queen had ever spent without many-times-a-day tête-à-tête.

Of course he’d foreseen this eventuality from the first and if he hadn’t there were many, friends and foes alike, who made it a point to remind him.

After nearly three years of “playing nursemaid”, as Holland House wits put it, he was freed to return to his old life. Free to dine where he wished, with whom he wished, enjoy the bright sparkling repartee of society hostesses who vied for the chance to entertain William Lamb. Free to flirt, and more, with beautiful accomplished sophisticates who understood the subtleties of such affaires de amoure.

“Lord Melbourne.” He looked up to see a stranger standing expectantly table side. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have been asked to invite you to join...my friend for a drink. We have engaged a private room. For discretion, you understand.” Melbourne and his companions took in the overlong hair, artfully disarrayed neckcloth and gleaming top boots, fashionable earlier in the century with those who fancied themselves poets and artistes, emulated now by a certain type of young male. Palmerston, his brother-in-law, raised an eyebrow mockingly. “William,” He said. “This sounds quite intriguing. You must see what this is about.”

“Certainly I would be honored to join your party, sir, but as you see I am otherwise engaged this evening. And I don’t believe I caught your name.” Melbourne drawled, turning slightly in a gesture of dismissal.

“George Von Wettin, sir. Son of Baron Van Wettin, from the Duchy of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha.” He gave a crisp military bow amusingly at odds with his slight build and precise, almost effeminate manner.

“Please, Prime Minister, a few minutes of your time only.” The young man tilted his head in a gesture of appeal.

Melbourne felt a sense of dismay, dread even, that he concealed well beneath an urbane smile. He avoided confrontation and unpleasantness above all, and had a sinking feeling that both were imminent. He sighed deeply to express his irritation and rose from the table.

“Very well. Five minutes. Gentlemen, I will return shortly.”

The genteel private dining room to which he was led was dimly lit by red glass fixtures. Several young men were gathered around the table. They had stopped talking, yet all seemed to carefully avoid turning to look at the new arrival save one. Even across a dimlit room Melbourne instantly recognized the lanky figure who stood to greet him.

“George, Franz, Ernst...please try your luck at the cards for a while. Thank you.” He spoke softly, carefully pronouncing English words which as yet didn’t come without deliberation, dismissing his companions.

“Lord Melbourne! Thank you for joining me. You and I being here at the same time is...there is a word for it in German, a fortunate coincidence but maybe more than coincidence. Serendipität.” The Prince’s long, usually somewhat sullen face was unusually animated; he appeared genuinely pleased to see Melbourne.


	2. Chapter 2

“Your Serene Highness,” Melbourne bowed with all the grace and polish he could muster. He arranged his features in an expression of remote, courteous interest, any emotion in his dark eyes well concealed.

“Please...sit...may I pour you brandy? Madeira?” Albert stood and bowed 

Melbourne accepted a brandy. He maintained a carefully neutral expression, revealing only benign curiosity. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Please, can we dispense with titles? I am Albert and you are William.” Melbourne indicated indifferent assent. He was genuinely curious about the reason for this display of bonhomie from the stern clockwork prince. Or so he and his Queen had laughingly described him once, before her sudden change of heart.

“Now that the wedding celebrations are behind us -“

“And the marriage settlement?” Melbourne permitted himself a small cynical smile. “I must warn you, there is very little I can do to influence that. The Parliament you admire so much is a contentious body.”

The Prince waved a hand dismissively.

“You haven’t been to the Palace since we returned from our wedding trip.” Melbourne resisted the urge to rise and leave, his sense of decorum requiring him to endure this odd unwelcome overture.

“I have been occupied with Government business, Your Highness. I trust my private secretary has been diligent in meeting with Her Majesty and addressing any questions she might have.”

“Yes...your secretary has appeared daily with the dispatches. He has done his best to answer most of the Queen’s questions.” The Prince sipped his brandy, looking closely at Melbourne over the rim of the glass.

“Most, Your Highness? Surely if there is any matter on which the Queen requires additional information, she knows she can write and I will respond promptly.”

“Unfortunately that has not been the case. I believe the Queen has written you several times and you have not responded promptly.” Melbourne rarely indulged in anger. Equanimity had served him well throughout a tumultuous personal and political life. He was surprised now at the white hot rage boiling up at this smug, self-satisfied imbecile picking at the edges of an emotional wound no gentleman would acknowledge.

“Please accept my apology if my attention to my duty caused Her Majesty inconvenience in the performance of hers.” Melbourne rose. “And now if you will excuse me-“

“Please...” The Prince reached out to grasp Melbourne’s arm. “I am doing this badly I think. Please...” His liquid dark eyes were imploring. Melbourne debated whether he could, should, pull away and decided he could not, without revealing his own bitter hostility.

“It was not a coincidence I found you here. I hoped to encounter you. Of course you know this.” He released his grip and sat back down, waiting for Melbourne to do likewise.

“The time before our marriage was very difficult for me. You know how my Uncle Leopold, my father, Victoria’s mother, were pushing us to marry. It was arranged long ago. Victoria could have married anyone - almost anyone - she chose. I had no prospect except her.”

Melbourne frowned, parsing the statement for some hidden meaning it seemed was just out of reach.

“The urgency was because my father knew, and my uncle suspected, that if it became known I would not be a suitable husband our chance would be lost. As it turned out, I couldn’t go on the way they wished and in fact the very thing that makes me an unsuitable husband is what persuaded Victoria to marry me.”

Melbourne was unabashedly intrigued, unable to guess what this cryptic statement meant but deeply uncomfortable with the Prince’s intimate, confiding tone. He knew he should not encourage this young man to think of him as a confidant, to continue alluding to private matters in this vein. 

“Coburg is very poor and my father and brother are very...expensive. My marriage was their only hope. Uncle Leopold has always subsidized us and I am his favorite. Ernst can not marry for other reasons although I often thought he would be much better suited to Victoria than I was. He is amusing, charming, and appreciates the ladies very much. Alas…” Albert’s dark eyes sparkled with some sort of unaccustomed humor, as though privy to a jest Melbourne didn’t share.

“So Her Majesty’s decision to marry you was because you are unsuitable? That makes no sense, but it doesn’t have to, to me. The Queen choose you and the Government ratified her choice. The thing is done. I wish you well, Your Highness. I am sure you and the Queen will make each other very happy.” Melbourne was deliberately curt. He hoped the conversation had ended. Instead the Prince smirked, repeating his words.

“‘Make each other very happy’. Indeed, the Queen has made me very happy. Now I must try to do the same for her. But that is a conversation we should not have, now. I was attempting to explain how tense, how difficult, those weeks leading up to the wedding were for me. I was...frightened and angry and watched on all sides to be sure I didn’t falter. I know my uncle treated you badly and I am afraid I was...unfriendly. Please accept my most sincere apology. You have been a very good friend and advisor to the Queen. I am making my home in a strange country that is not pleased to have me. I would like you to be my friend and advisor also.

If I am the reason you no longer visit the Queen, because of our marriage...please believe that is not at all what I wish. Victoria has given me…everything. A chance to be happy, live an honorable life. That is something I never imagined was possible. I would like to give her the same happiness she has given me, and she is not happy without her Lord M.”

Melbourne sat back, his thoughts racing, unsure how to respond. Did this preposterous boy realize what he was saying? Was he blind to the fact that they were more than Queen and Prime Minister? That he, Melbourne, would be the Queen’s husband if his own damned cowardice hadn’t made him turn her away? No, he couldn’t. But how could he not, when everyone from people along the parade route to her own mother’s household had used ‘Mrs. Melbourne’ as a taunt? Melbourne’s own strong emotional reaction overwhelmed him. Only later would he replay everything else contained in this most curious encounter.

Melbourne sighed. He had always known he couldn’t avoid her indefinitely. It was his duty to meet with the sovereign, and he could no more live without seeing her again than he could go without oxygen. It was only a lifelong habit of avoiding anything uncomfortable or unpleasant, that had kept him away this long.

“I have dealt with the most pressing concerns in the House, Your Highness. I will wait on Her Majesty tomorrow at 4.”

“You will dine at the Palace as well? You will use your apartment there of course.” Albert clasped Melbourne's hand in both of his, shaking it energetically as though to seal an agreement.

Impertinent, uncouth, pushy cub!

“Your Highness.” Melbourne bowed.

“William.” The Prince returned a bow of equal depth. “I look forward to seeing you again.”


	3. Chapter 3

Melbourne declined the offer of a ride, preferring a walk in the cold evening air to clear his mind. Too many thoughts were racing unproductively, too many questions, and underlying all thought, the ever-present ache at his core when he thought of her. He ached in his heart, his gut, his loins, futilely attempting to push away images of that sweet face turned up to his as the rooks cawed overhead, lips ready for a kiss that never came. He preferred to think of the Queen as he should, as the bright, dynamic, quick-witted if strong-willed sovereign who had blossomed under his tutelage. But that image hurt as well, so much it took his breath away. He had felt himself come alive again as she thirstily absorbed everything he taught her about the ways of the world they lived in. She had a way of looking at him with such a hungry gaze, as though he were the center of her universe rather than the other way around.

He wasn’t sure exactly when his feelings had changed. From exhilaration at finding himself so influential with a new, unformed monarch who promised to lead their great nation into the future, to gratification at the unabashed affection she showered him with to…laying awake at night physically stirred as no man of his age should be, remembering the scent of her hair, the smooth downy texture of her skin, wondering what she would feel like, taste like in his arms.

Walking the distance to his home, Melbourne found himself as agitated when he reached his destination as when he set out. He shrugged off his coat and loosened his cravat, calling for brandy to be brought to the study, then deciding that he didn’t want his mind clouded by its effects.

Throwing himself into his favorite armchair, he stared into the fire lit in anticipation of his arrival. Trying to bring order to his thoughts. Drawn instead into remembering how he’d gotten to this point.

William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne and Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, had had the benefit of a brilliant, much-admired mother who adored him, an excellent education amidst the sons of the aristocracy, an eventful life lived amongst the brightest lights of Regency England and service to two kings to prepare him. He was universally liked, even by his political opponents, for his effortless charm, wit and - beneath an insouciant manner - genuinely kind heart. That he was described by contemporaries as an extremely handsome man did him no harm either, so said Holland House wits, in playing nursery maid to the little virgin queen.

What Melbourne hadn’t reckoned on, during his first audience with the “Royal Girl” as Caroline Norton snidely referred to her, was the startling vividness of her character, an untrammeled force of nature that seemed to encircle her like a palpable aura. He hadn’t noticed, at that first meeting, that she was a pretty little thing with eyes much darker than her Uncle’s Coburg blue. He failed to note a trim, lithe figure beneath her black taffeta. What struck him like a blow was an ineffable impression of light and buffeting wind, energy that came off her in waves. In any environment, queen or not, this was a creature who would draw all attention onto herself with sheer animal magnetism.

He didn’t foresee at that first meeting where it would lead but he knew with utter certainty that life had just become very, very interesting again. Nothing would ever be the same.

Melbourne quickly adapted to a new routine which kept him at the palace six hours a day or more. He rode with her in the morning, returned in late afternoon to go through the dispatch boxes, dined at the Palace and spent the evenings in her drawing room. She had quickly insisted an apartment be made available to him at Windsor and Buckingham, to eliminate the need for late night travel back to his South Street home. His sophisticated contemporaries led by Charles Greville made a point of commiserating with him at what they perceived to be the tedium of these nights at the Palace. But they didn’t know how she could banter, how eagerly she hung on his every word, engrossed by every story he told her, anecdotes about his own life, larger-than-life characters he had known, memories he’d considered quite commonplace until shared with her. 

When she realized his connection to her favorite author she guilelessly clamored for any insights he could provide. Melbourne deflected her questions adroitly, declining to enlighten her on the more salacious details of Glenarvon, feeling both amused and chagrined. He thought it was clear nobody had yet discussed the scandal of his marriage in her presence, because her eyes sparkled with teenage admiration for his notorious late wife’s writing prowess and what Victoria called her “adventures.” Once he gently told her some of the truth her admiration swiftly turned to outrage on his behalf.

Gradually, though, her kittenish enthusiasms had dimmed a bit and his little Queen no longer prattled artlessly as she would with an elderly uncle. Instead there were moments when she caught her breath as he handed her a document, when she seemed to lose her train of thought mid-sentence and instead looked at him with a kind of burgeoning wonder. When she teased him not as a favorite niece might, but as the woman she had become, he knew something had unalterably changed between them.

It no longer amused Melbourne to see her trying out feminine wiles, when she would quite unconsciously nibble her bottom lip, widen her eyes, touch her hair. When her small shoulders arched back unaware, her breathing deepened as he stood near her. With a growing sense of unease, even he – as devoted to comfortable obliviousness as any man could be – acknowledged that what lie between them was new and volatile, unresolved longing and romantic, sexual tension so nearly palpable it could not be hidden.

Looking back over the past three years, Melbourne tossed off the brandy he hadn’t intended to drink. He raked a hand though his graying dark curls, rubbed his face angrily. He wore the bitter inward-looking expression of a man who saw himself clearly and didn’t particularly like what he saw. How cowardice, emotional as well as physical, had driven every part of his life, from schoolboy days at Eton to his years in Parliament. Refusing to take a stand, unwilling to risk confrontation, he’d allowed Caro to run her length, never once daring to demand fidelity when even she told him – told the world in that damnable book – that what she’d wanted was a forceful husband to set limits and rein her in. In politics, well-liked as he was, Melbourne admitted to himself he’d never found a principle worth fighting for, a position on which to make a stand. He had a true gift for building consensus and mitigating conflict, but did he have the courage of his convictions, nay, any convictions upon which to expend courage if he found it? He thought not.

When all his restless nights and aching loins culminated in his brave, beautiful young Queen coming to him and laying her heart in his hands he’d turned her away with a silly analogy about rooks. Even after, when he felt his own heart break into a thousand pieces along with hers, he’d lacked the resolve to stay away but neither did he have the courage to make a stand. Instead, all he offered was a weak parable. Of course marriage to a scandal-ridden Prime Minister would cause some outrage. And of course it would have meant reliving the old unpleasantness, having slurs flung at him from both sides of the aisle. The people would have nattered on, and then they would have found something new to talk about. A penniless German princeling, not the first to marry onto the British throne, was no more popular and – Melbourne suspected – quite a bit less so than he would have been after the initial outcry. The English people loved a love story, they were enchanted by their little Queen and he himself had no real enemies, no one who accused him of avarice or even partiality to his own Whig party. They could have done the thing, if only he had matched her courage, her fierce determination to grasp what she wanted. Instead…here they were, she with her princeling and he with one more in a lifetime of regrets.

And yet…there was his strange encounter with the prince. And tomorrow once again he would become her Lord M.


	4. Chapter 4

For as long as she could remember Victoria felt possessed by some vast store of energy, a hunger, craving even, to know, understand and experience everything life had to offer beyond the walls of her homely prison and to have her own way, control her own destiny. It was that wild urgent need that made her isolated upbringing so especially onerous.

Victoria knew herself for a contrary, strong-willed creature, had been reminded of that unfortunate fact often enough by her mother, her beloved governess, and especially by him, the loathsome John Conroy. She simply would not be controlled, pushed, manipulated or even guided, unless she herself sought advice and then only Lord Melbourne seemed to know just how to convey such without setting her back up. Above all, she needed to feel in control and violently rejected anything that threatened to take that control away. A natural attribute for the sovereign of course, but Victoria believed she would have felt the same if she were a housemaid or flower girl. She simply would have her way.

Again according to the unholy trinity of her bleak Kensington childhood, Victoria had been a tiny termagant, capable of such ferocious rages that only Conroy had been willing to intercede. Victoria had never submitted. As Queen Regnant, she no longer resorted to kicking, screaming red-faced tantrums. She had sharper weapons at her disposal now, an icy impenetrable mask of remote disdain, use of the royal pronoun and a growing appreciation of strategy.

She had never wanted, needed, anything as much as she wanted Lord M. William. She loved him to distraction, craved closeness to him in ways she didn’t fully understand, compelled by primal urges as much as she was by the delight she took in his wit, his knowledge, his tender care for her. And she would have him.

When he turned down her overture, adopting an unfamiliar avuncular manner and speaking of his inability to return her affection in kind, she felt her heart actually break through sharp shards of pain that made it difficult to breathe. She couldn’t control her thoughts, her emotions. She’d nearly sacrificed her dignity before she was able to freeze her features into an impenetrable mask and walk away, head held high.

But the next day he returned, charming, familiar and with him the sense of connection they shared, heady and exhilarating. That is when her natural optimism returned and with it her resolve. She would have him, she would…she would just need to find a way.

Victoria knew enough of her own constitution to understand that there was in fact no barrier to their marriage. She was Head of the Church of England, and Melbourne was a widower free to marry in the Church. He was a Protestant. She was a Queen Regnant, not Queen Consort to a King, so there was no question of treason. As the anointed monarch any child she produced would be rightful heir to a line stretching back a thousand years, whether she married a Viscount or a chimney sweep. There was no question of a Morganatic marriage, as the concept didn’t formally exist in English common law and historically the English crown descended through marriages with commoners as late as the 17th century. Yet she also knew that he was resolute in refusing marriage, no matter how unmistakable the signs that he desired her as desperately as she did him. She sensed that, as much as he cared for her best interests and as deeply as he loved her, something in him could not withstand the inevitable turmoil that would greet their marriage. The few bitter words he’d spoken about scandal and ridicule were key to his reluctance, she thought. So he wouldn’t marry her. Very well...she would find another way.

Her Ladies-in-Waiting whiled away the hours sharing on dits from society, scandalous tidbits they found amusing or titillating. Emma Portman was her especial favorite, somewhat older than the rest. She knew everything about everyone and was always willing to share what she knew. Victoria was an eager listener. Lady Portman, discussing his youth one day, had observed that Melbourne was commonly held to favor Lord Egremont as a young man, while she herself believed he resembled his mother more closely. When Victoria looked to her for an explanation, Emma explained that while Lamb was the eldest boy’s father, Lord Egremont was William’s and Lady Melbourne's fourth son George was believed to have been fathered by Prince George, who acted as the boy's godfather. Lady Lamb was widely admired in society and the various paternities of her offspring had been no source of scandal.

Victoria knew that her Uncle King William had maintained a family with Mrs. Jordan for over 20 years. Her own mother hadn’t approved of the freedom with which all nine little FitzClarences roamed the Palace, but her Aunt Adelaide accepted them good naturedly. When Victoria continued their allowance her mother’s disapproval seemed to stem more from the perceived diversion of funds from her own purse, than from any sense of moral outrage.

Quite often, weekly or more it seemed, Melbourne himself had shared similar gossip, noting which noble Lord had gotten a child on which Lady not married to him. It seemed to be an accepted alternative arrangement, and one which intrigued Victoria rather than scandalized her.

None of this had formed a clear picture of the way ahead in her mind, but it showed her there were possibilities.

**

When Albert next approached her, sullen, diffident and eager to find fault, next came to her, she flew into a tirade, telling him she did not want to marry him, had never wanted to marry him, could not bear to think of marrying him.

“Victoria, if I may…” he’d said in his low, careful voice when she paused for breath. “I do not wish to marry you either. I think we must be honest with them, your mother, Uncle Leopold, my father, and tell them we are not suited.” He took her hand in both of his and held it, turning it over, looking at her palm to avoid her eyes. Then suddenly, as if he’d collected his thoughts, he looked into her eyes.

“It is not your dancing or your frivolity or any of the things I have criticized you for. You are a delightful girl and will be a wonderful wife, a splendid queen.

I am not a suitable husband. I can not be. I do not wish to marry any woman, you see. My father knows this but will not accept it. If I do not marry you, if I live as I wish, he will disown me. I will have no money, no income. Perhaps I will find a position at university, teaching. But I can’t marry you. You must marry someone else.”

His solemn face was resolute, his expression sincere. He seemed to plead for her understanding, or compassion, or mercy, but steeled himself for a more likely outburst of anger. Victoria was struck silent, digesting what he’d said and then suddenly, collapsed into peals of laughter. In the several minutes that passed before she regained her composure, Albert’s face became drawn and angry. She saw that and caught her breath.

“Oh no, dear Albert. I do not laugh at you. I laugh at myself, really. You are…” She hiccuped, swallowing back another whoop of laughter. “You are not the first man who refused to marry me.” Unable to restrain herself any longer, she lapsed into giggles again. Finally sure she was neither mocking nor hysterical, Albert permitted himself to smile a little.

Finally composing herself, Victoria smiled at him, genuinely beginning to like him for the first time.

“What a pair we are, Albert. Your father, my mama, our uncle…and here we sit, afraid to defy them like two naughty children. I fear we will never have a moment’s peace from them after this. I do not know what your father will do to you – I hope you know you are always welcome at my court and I’m sure you can find a way to live in my country without your father’s support – but I know Uncle Leopold and my mother will never give me peace.

Worse, Uncle Cumberland who is my heir at present will continue to scheme until I have produced an heir.”

Albert blanched, and swallowed so thickly his Adam’s Apple bobbed, but spoke. “I do not wish to start our argument all over again but…why do you not marry your Lord M? I think of course you love each other. No man who looks at you the way he does would refuse to marry you.”

Victoria sighed, her levity passed. “I tried. He does not think he is suitable either, I’m afraid. He will not change his mind about marriage.”

“Dear Albert…if we married, we could finally send them all packing. Uncle Leopold to Belgium, Uncle Cumberland to Hanover, your father to Coburg and mama to Lord John in Ireland. No one could rule us. You could learn to be a husband – we could pretend at least – and we would both have freedom finally from our families and those who wish to control us. How difficult can it be, to be married?”

Albert looked away, blushing hotly under his porcelain complexion.

“You do not understand. There are things a husband must do…to produce a child…that I do not wish to do with any woman. You are beautiful and I’m sure very desirable but I would like to be with a companion of my own, someone who… returns my love. A…a man…who shares my inclination. This is not allowed. Even in England, so advanced in other ways, to be that way, in such a relationship, is not permitted.

Even if I were to force myself to…make a child, or attempt to, you are a young beautiful woman who deserves a man who is not disgusted by that act with her.”

Victoria raised a brow and laughed sharply. “What a romantic way to put it,” She said sarcastically. But Victoria was not shocked. She remembered conversations with Melbourne around a bill the Whigs sought to have passed in 1838, rewriting and modernizing the criminal code. He and his party wanted to eliminate criminal sanctions for a variety of immoral acts, insisting that the government had no business legislating what went on in the bedchamber. The bill had failed, due in no small measure to Melbourne’s own extramarital affairs – his criminal conversations suits - coming back to haunt him. It was deemed too self-serving a bill for him to sponsor and he allowed it to die.

She wasn’t sure precisely what acts Albert referred to, but had a fair idea. How that would work without a woman, with two men, she didn’t understand and dismissed her momentary curiosity. What Victoria did see was a young man she was growing fond of, and an opportunity for them both to have a measure of happiness and freedom that might otherwise be unattainable.

“Albert…” She said, with a martial light in her eye and determined set to her shoulders. “I think we can help each other…”


	5. Chapter 5

At promptly 4PM a hall page opened the door to the Queen’s drawing room - not her more intimate private study - and Melbourne entered.

Melbourne hadn’t slept the night before, anticipating this moment, and had attended to little in his office that day. He’d shaved again before coming, with special care, and discarded several neck cloths before arranging one to his liking. He’d put on and taken off a succession of coats before settling on the first one presented by his long-suffering valet, a dark green brushed velvet. When Melbourne finally looked at himself in the mirror he chuckled, amused at his own foolishness.

He’d expected to be nervous, attending the Queen after many weeks’ absence, ignoring her summonses and his own sense of duty. While he was in fact anxious for many reasons, some unrelated to his responsibility as Head of Her Majesty’s Government, he also felt energized and noticeably lighter in mood than he had in a long while.

Her Majesty continued studying the document she held, before finally looking up with a pained expression. “Mr. Cowper, I cannot understand what -“ She stopped, seeing Melbourne in place of his secretary, and her face lit up with a delighted smile.

“Lord M!” She exclaimed with unfeigned surprise and unmitigated pleasure. So Albert hadn’t told her to expect him, Melbourne observed.

He approached and gracefully dropped to one knee, kissing her hand.

“Your Majesty.”

“I am so happy to see you!” Victoria said, unable to stop smiling. Melbourne felt all potential awkwardness vanish as something easily familiar and infinitely comforting clicked into place.

“I take it you have resolved all those issues which demanded your attention?” She asked, intending to sound acerbic, that intention belied by the laughter in her voice.

“Indeed, ma’am. Drafting a legislative agenda for the next year that both parties can agree on is quite a challenge,” He answered smoothly, meeting her gaze, acknowledging the polite fiction.

“Now, if I may -“ He took the paper she was still holding. “What is it my nephew failed to explain adequately?”

The next few hours flew by, as they went over accumulated business interspersed with the light teasing chatter both enjoyed. If she brushed his hand with hers as they passed papers back and forth, if he found reasons to lean in closely to look over her shoulder at an illegible phrase, it was so much part of the fiber of their interaction as to need no prior intent.

At seven, they were interrupted by her Ladies. Emma Portman and Harriet Sutherland were wreathed in smiles as they warmly greeted the Prime Minister.

“William! So good to see you! It is about time you put in an appearance.” Lady Portman, fond of her childhood friend, extended her hand and received a peck on the cheek instead.

“Duchess,” He bowed over the young Lady Sutherland’s hand.

“Lord Melbourne, I should thank you for returning my husband to me. He was as preoccupied by the agenda as you were.” Melbourne’s mouth twitched in a small, appreciative smile.

“Frances,” He addressed the youngest of the Queen’s attendants, his own niece, daughter of his sister Emily.

“Uncle William,” She bobbed a curtsy, which made him laugh and chuck her under the chin. 

“Please, child, I’m neither that ancient nor that venerable. Spare the curtsies.” His tone was affectionate enough to take any sting out of his words.

“Shall we go in to dinner?” Lady Portman suggested. “If Your Majesty has completed your business?”

The Queen laughed saucily. “I’m afraid Lord M and I could work all night and not be caught up. But we must feed him so he keeps up his strength.” She swished her full skirts exaggeratedly and led them out of the room.

Melbourne noted with approval one change the queen had implemented, presumably the result of her newly gained independence from strict German-inspired protocol.

“You’ll be happy to know, Lord M, that when dining en famille we no longer observe State protocol. Everyone is free to eat in peace, without fear of footmen sweeping unfinished plates away.” She giggled again, that silvery peal Melbourne delighted to hear.

“Although it was amusing to see Uncle Leopold chasing a last bite with his fork,” Albert’s brother Ernst offered. “And Albert protesting he had not yet finished. I thought he might slap the footman’s hand away.”

“It certainly spares me having to invent things to do with my fork, so as to avoid any appearance of having finished. I can’t imagine how close to starvation you all were when your consumption was dictated by my appetite. Especially the gentlemen.” Victoria smiled at each in turn, deftly keeping the tone of their conversation light and amusing with much help from her gregarious brother-in-law. Lady Portman contributed with her customary dry wit and Melbourne found himself enjoying the dinner more than he had imagined possible. If only he could steer his mind away from the simple fact of her marriage, that at the end of the evening she would retire and her husband would, could, should exercise the right to a physical intimacy he himself dared not imagine. No, as long as his thoughts didn’t turn in that direction it was bearable. More so than the dreary, forlorn hours away from her presence.

When the ladies removed to the drawing room, Albert moved closer to Melbourne. The younger man smiled and Melbourne noted once more how marriage had changed him from a sullen brooding boy whose unsmiling presence had hung over the Palace like a thundercloud to this very pleasant, contented - if somewhat serious - young man

“You see, Lord Melbourne, how marriage agrees with my brother,” Ernst said, ruffling his brother’s hair with a comic show of affection.

“I am most happy to know that,” Melbourne responded drily.

“What agrees with me, brother, is being out of Coburg and having our uncle and father returned to their homes.” Albert corrected his brother.

“If I could marry a woman as...understanding as our cousin I might consider taking that step.” Albert shot his brother a warning glance that Melbourne noted.

“Perhaps, Your Highness, we should join the ladies.”

Victoria sat on a small sofa beside Frances; their two heads were bent over a dress book. Harriet Sutherland was drawn away by the Prince’s brother. A chair beside the Queen was conspicuously empty, where Melbourne customarily sat. Emma Portman chose a chair on his other side.

“So has it been as painful as you anticipated?” She asked kindly. Melbourne contemplated the question. Things felt so normal between them; the Queen seemed neither deliriously happy with her married state, nor unhappy with her rash choice. He thought he could not have borne either state but as things were...

“Bearable, Emma. Infinitely more bearable than...”

“Than cutting yourself off altogether? William, you should know, never say never.” She patted his hand, folding it under her own with the liberty of an old friend. “I suspect that things are not quite what they seem. Our little Queen is a remarkable woman. She seems to know exactly what she’s doing, for all that show of impulsiveness.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t look so disapproving, William. I mean what I say with the greatest admiration.”

Albert had taken a seat at the piano and was joined by his companion, the slight young man who had first accosted Melbourne at his club. They found sheet music and began playing a duet. Shoulders touching, dark and blond heads bent together over the keyboard, their hands moved in perfect unison. Melbourne watched them, quite unable to look away. He thought he was the only one paying attention to the tableau until Emma nudged him with her elbow. When he looked up she arched an eyebrow, smiling quite insufferably.

Melbourne turned back and saw the Queen studying him. When she looked at him just so it was if she were the only person in the world able to truly see him. He suppressed a shiver, unable to look away, or speak, feeling as though it really was possible to drown in someone’s eyes, as the poets suggested.

She looked down, at Lady Portman’s hand still companionably over his own, and her lips tightened. He self-consciously slid his own free.

“His Highness has a partner to play with who can match his tempo,” Victoria observed. “Don’t they sound marvelous together, Lord M?”

“They do indeed, ma’am. Although I’m sure His Highness would rather play with you.”

“I don’t think so, Lord M. He and George are so well suited. And I would much rather be here talking with you.” Her tone was light, her expression amused, but when she lifted her chin it looked like a challenge.


	6. Chapter 6

In the days and weeks that followed, Melbourne attempted to strike a balance between attending the Queen as frequently as he - and she - wished, and giving the royal couple time and space to develop their relationship.

Melbourne acknowledged that the Prince Consort made sure he felt welcome. The young man, out from under the censorious supervision of his elders, could be surprisingly good company. He asked astute questions and listened closely to Melbourne’s explanations. The Prince was well-informed about the history of England, less so about contemporary society. Albert had a special interest in the innovations that were part of an industrial revolution sweeping the country, a subject which interested Melbourne not at all, but he was able to arrange an introduction for the Prince to a Patents clerk in the Home Secretary’s office.

The Prince’s close friend and companion George Von Wettin had trained as an architect and joined their conversation about the rebuilding of Parliament. Melbourne invited Prince Albert and Mr. Von Wettin to attend the laying of the cornerstone, and later to dine with Mr. Charles Barry, chief architect, and members of the committee overseeing the gargantuan project.

Victoria, to his great relief, displayed no overt bridal affection toward her husband in Melbourne’s presence. Or out of it, he sometimes suspected. She seemed most pleased with her marital state when it allowed her to throw off the restrictions imposed on unmarried women.

“Let’s walk in the Park, Lord M. I am so restless today. My ladies do not need to accompany us. I am a married woman and need no chaperone.”

“You may withdraw, Lehzen. I can sit alone with Lord M tonight since my ladies have retired. I require no chaperone.”

Melbourne, although he tried to resist, found himself often pondering the Queen’s marriage and his own place in the middle of it seemingly at the insistence of both husband and wife. He never felt superfluous, never sensed any resentment of his presence or influence on the Queen from Prince Albert. Dammit, he wondered with chagrin more than once, did the boy see him as too old to be a credible interloper, much less rival?

On an evening they found themselves alone, chatting comfortably in front of the fire, Melbourne found himself asking rather boldly, “Are you pleased with your marriage, ma’am? Has it turned out as you hoped?”

“Yes, quite pleased. It has turned out quite as I expected. Do you like Albert more than you did formerly? He quite likes you.”

Melbourne’s lips twitched in a small almost-smile. “I think it’s more important he like you, ma’am. And that you...are satisfied with your choice.”

“Since I couldn’t marry as I chose, I find Albert quite satisfactory as an alternative.” Victoria’s direct gaze made him want to squirm. Instead he took a deep breath and reached for her hand.

“I want you to be happy...ma’m,” Melbourne said in a low voice. “Promise me that you will be...and I can bear it.” He finished so softly she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

“I hope I will be, Lord M.” Victoria rose, turning her back to him and walked to the window. It was her turn to speak in a sub audible murmur. “That is up to you.”

She looked out over the darkened lawns.

“What do they say about my marriage, Lord M? Are they all quite satisfied? Everyone who insisted I find a suitable husband?” He liked the sound of her name for him on her lips, intimate, lacking even a pretense of formality in the hush of a somnolent palace. This, he thought, this would be enough.

“I don’t say a German marriage is any more popular than it was but the Prince himself is not disliked.” Melbourne paused, choosing his words delicately. “The people are eager for a child. An heir to ensure Cumberland has no more claim to the throne. There are...bets taken in the clubs.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to ask. “I suppose there are no signs as yet....?”

Victoria looked at him in surprise, her eyes narrowing. Not finding what she sought, she laughed softly and turned back to the dark gardens. Melbourne stood behind her, following her gaze. He saw two men walking closely together in the moonlight, their hands joined.

“Don’t wager on a pregnancy. There will be no child from my marriage.”

Melbourne was dumbfounded, for once completely tongue-tied, deeply uncomfortable having to discuss such things with her. The very topic threatened to expose the depths of his private pain.

She turned from the window and took a step nearer, tilting her head back to look up at him. Her eyes were liquid pools in the candlelit room. She had never looked more desirable. Melbourne stepped back quickly, keeping distance between them.

“You knew this before you married him? This is why you married him - because he ‘was not suitable’? What in hell were you thinking?” His voice cracked, reminding him he was nearly shouting.

“You will destroy the monarchy, ma’am, and turn the country into a Republic. That will happen before Cumberland inherits the throne. You are the end of your line. Without an heir, the Republicans and anti-monarchists will have won.” Melbourne glared at her, seeing only a willful child determined to have her way at any cost.

“I had to marry. You, Parliament, the Privy Council, my family demanded I marry and soon. There is only one man I wanted, and you refused. I could not remain single and I knew I could not be a true wife to anyone. The very thought of such…intimacies…from a stranger turned my stomach, repulsed me. But my cousin Albert promised to make no such demands on me. It seemed like the only possible choice to please everyone and be, if not happy, then not terribly unhappy either.” Victoria spoke softly and clearly, willing him to understand. “What else could I do?” She asked.

He threw out his arms in frustration, raked his hands through his hair.

“You could have at least chosen a prince who would perform his duty – your cousin Ernst seems quite capable in that regard. You could have –“ Melbourne swallowed hard and continued in a hoarse whisper. “You could have persisted. You know I would not have been able to turn you away again.”

Victoria took his hand in her small ones, turning it over, studying his palm, his long elegant fingers. When she looked up again, tears sparkled on her lashes despite her smile.

“Would you have accepted? Perhaps. But I think if you had, you would not have been happy.”

“Your happiness is all I desire in the world, ma’am,” He growled, not pulling his hands away, not attempting to touch her.

“Is that true? I hope it is, despite what you said at Brocket Hall that day. But I do not think marrying me would have made you happy. Facing the uproar, everyone mocking, criticizing, accusing you of base motives. Hostility from society, digging up old scandals and finding new ways to insult you. Those damned lampoons. Disturbing your peace. You lived through such drama once, at the end of your marriage. I don’t think you truly wanted to relive it at the beginning of another one.” Her voice was a near-whisper. Melbourne hung on her words, the truth of them, wondering that she could understand him so well and still care for him.

“I’ve loved you so long! It sometimes seems like I loved you before I met you, as if my heart and soul knew you already and had only been waiting. But I don’t think I wanted that kind of marriage either, my deepest feelings, my most private desires, put on display as part of some theatrical performance. What we have, I want to be just for us. Do you understand?” She tilted her head, in a gesture that would have been coquettish if she wasn’t so solemn, looking for a sign from him.

Melbourne gazed into her precious face, turned up to him, her expression eager and shy, hungry and unsure all at once, a jumble of emotion. He very gently kissed her forehead. Victoria rose as tall as she could, but she would not have been able to reach his mouth if he hadn’t bent his head down to meet her. He cupped her head in his hands and kissed her temple, her cheek. When their lips finally met he thought he would dissolve, melting into her warmth. He began chastely, gently, but as she drew in a great ragged breath and pressed herself against him, he deepened the kiss. Finally she sighed softly and shivered. As he drew back she moaned in protest. “Don’t stop,” Victoria whispered in a small imploring voice.


	7. Chapter 7

When Melbourne’s lips touched hers, Victoria had pressed herself against him, molded herself to him so completely that his arms encircled her seemingly of their own volition. He was careful, tentative even, unable to forget that this was _her_ , Victoria, his Queen, in his arms. Kissing her finally was more sublime even than he had imagined it would be. So tiny, so infinitely precious to him. _Is this real?_ The thought flashed through his mind, coupled with a heady sense of unreality.

 Melbourne kissed her gently, holding back, understanding far better than she did how readily he could lose all control and all semblance of decorum after so much anticipation. As inexperienced as she was, it was Victoria who parted her lips first, Victoria who inhaled his breath and exhaled her own, so that the kiss would not end.

It was her sigh, that small sound of bliss, of desire she did not yet fully understand, which nearly broke through his restraint. Melbourne knew it was up to him to stop this. He drew back slightly, intending to speak of caution, of reason and propriety. He felt ashamed of his powerful need, and would have turned away, but Victoria would have none of it. He took another step back and took both of her hands in his, as much because he needed to touch her as to keep her at bay. Immediately her expression changed into puzzled hurt.

“Don’t you want - - do you not want to be…” she took a deep breath and her voice trembled. “…my lover?”

Melbourne understood that she was far too inexperienced to appreciate subtlety.

“You must not ask such things. You are all I think of. My mind, my heart, are filled with you. And…” His lips turned up in the smallest of smiles; he allowed his habitual guard to drop, so that his emotions could be clearly read in his eyes. “Yes, I want you. That you can doubt just reminds me how very young and innocent you are. It is my duty to protect that innocence, not defile it to satisfy my own desires. Do you understand?”

 “But I _want_ you to be my lover. Albert does not mind – he encourages it, he will _tell_ you so if you ask him. If you want me too, then why do you push me away?”

“You and Albert are children, the both of you. Not yet twenty years old. Do you know, if my son had lived he would be thirty two years old? Do you know how old I am?”

“You’re not _old_ , Lord M. Why do you talk this way? Do you imagine you can _reason_ me into not feeling as I do? If you do not want this, then tell me now, one final time and I will…I will _try_ not trouble you again.” Tears welled up and sparkled on her lashes, and Melbourne wanted  nothing more than to kiss them away. He clasped his hands together instead. She had to understand what she was suggesting, the enormity of it, the…the _logistical difficulty_. That last thought made him snort with laughter, quite involuntarily. If he was concerning himself with the _logistics_ of having an affair with the Queen of England, then the die had already been cast. Melbourne resolved to try once more, to make her see reason. Even as he chose his words he was uncomfortably aware he was only offering a final sop to his conscience.

“I have not many moral scruples, ‘tis true, as anyone in the country will be only too happy to tell you. And I care little for anyone else’s opinion. But in the end I must live with myself and to defile you…to bring all the baggage of my life, all the stains on my character, into this most precious of friendships…

“Do not doubt my _feelings_ , Victoria. I _love_ you, I adore you, I worship you. You are the most perfect of God’s creatures. …but I cannot…” She must have closed the distance separating them, because he felt her small hand grasp his and bring it to her lips. When he finally forced himself to look down at her, Melbourne saw that sweet open face shining with such a look of adoration mixed with virginal desire he knew he was lost.

“William Lamb, I love you. I would have wed you, if you would have agreed. If you return my feelings, then we must be together. Nothing else will ever make me happy. I can make you happy too, if you will let me. _Please_?” It was that heartfelt plea which shocked him most. From the first, her dignity and sense of self had impressed everyone who encountered her, that imperial certainty of her own divine authority. He was absolutely certain this splendid creature had never pled for anything before in her life, yet she used that word to _him_. Melbourne surrendered, uncertain where it would lead, sure he could not deny her or himself any longer. That they shared love, no one could doubt; if that led them to share a more earthly bond as well then as long as _she_ was certain he had no more strength to resist.

He felt suddenly light-hearted, almost giddy with relief that the corner had been turned, the decision made, and everything had a new clarity. Victoria still held his hand in both of hers, pressing it against her lips once more and he turned his palm to cup her face in his hand. He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth, her temple, her eyelid, laid butterfly kisses all along her jawline, then drew her towards him.

“Ma’am, I am yours, body and soul. Your humble servant.” He was gently teasing now and his tone playful.

“We must be cautious. There are those who already assume the worst. You live in a fishbowl and there are always servants eager to earn a few shillings selling secrets. I _will not_ have you embroiled in scandal, I _can not_ be its cause.”

“Do you mean you will ---?” Victoria looked up at him with such eagerness Melbourne chuckled softly, with great tenderness.

“Are we likely to be disturbed? Should I take my leave?”

“No! I mean, not yet, if you please.” Melbourne led her to the couch and sat down, drawing her down to sit beside him.

“May I?” He laid his arm across her shoulders – _so tiny, a fairy princess! how often he’d imagined doing just this!_ – and she promptly leaned into his embrace.

“I don’t know what to do. You will teach me? When it is permissible for me to touch you? To be close to you? I’ve waited and wanted for so long.”

“Then we have that in common, ma’am,” Melbourne kissed the top of her head. “To answer your questions, teaching you will be my privilege and my delight, as it has always been. You may touch me and be close to me as often as you like, any time you like…as long as we are completely alone and safe from discovery. Victoria, I can’t emphasize enough, you must be very very careful in any signs of affection. You think I am only concerned about gossip, and of course I am, but monarchies are in a precarious state in every nation and no matter my feelings, I will not see the British throne come tumbling down because of my inclinations, or yours.” He lifted her chin with a finger, so that she could see the seriousness of his expression. “You must be careful. You are the most honest person I’ve ever known and that is just one of the many things I adore about you. You have little ability to dissemble. What you think, what you feel, is writ plain on your face. And it _must not_ be, where I’m concerned, not in view of others. Promise me you will be ever watchful?” Victoria nodded solemnly without speaking. “Talk to me, ma’am. What are you thinking?”

Victoria smiled, her face soft. “I am thinking I want you to kiss me again.” Melbourne obliged, and this time the kiss was deeper, their mouths opening hungrily, his tongue delicately exploring and hers following suit, learning already. Her arm was still about his waist and he knew the extent of her innocence once more when her arm brushed against him just _there_.  He saw the surprise in her eyes, a shy delighted surprise as awareness blossomed, and a question forming.

“And now I will say goodnight and take my leave of you, ma’am,” Melbourne said, gently untangling himself from her arms.

“You are leaving? I thought…won’t we…?”

“Not tonight, ma’am.” He cupped her face and kissed her lightly.

“When will you return? When will we – what happens next?” Victoria’s brows came together in an expression of genuine bewilderment so sweet he laughed softly, loving her so much it hurt.

“I will return tomorrow, ma’am. I am still your Prime Minister, and your Private Secretary as well. We have much work to do. As for what happens next…all in due time, ma’am.”

“You won’t change your mind?” Now her voice had an edge. He recognized the imperiousness returning, childlike, demanding, but the tone of a Queen nonetheless.

“Victoria.” His own voice was more stern now. “As your premier, your advisor and your loyal subject, I am yours to command. As your _companion_ , we must be equals. That will be your challenge to navigate and to learn when you must relinquish authority. I will not be ruled, no matter how much I adore you.” She was instantly chagrined and he softened his voice. “Now be a good girl and bid me good night.”

Melbourne bowed low, with a courtier’s grace, and took the customary four paces backward – reviving a ritual he’d long since abandoned – before turning to walk out of the Queen’s apartment.

Melbourne swiftly traversed the wide corridor, fancifully imagining the gilt-framed portraits of her ancestors all watching him. His head was filled with such a jumble of thoughts he couldn’t sort them, but above all he was buoyed by something so unfamiliar it took him time to name it – _joy_. Despite the untold complications which lay ahead, he was filled with joy.

At the head of the Great Stairway Melbourne looked up in time to see the Prince Consort. Another young man was with him – they had been idly chatting until he drew near and then conversation stopped as he approached.

“Lord Melbourne! What a pleasure to see you at the Palace so late.” Albert’s long face twitched with a smile he was trying to suppress. Melbourne saw the dark eyes dancing.

“Your Serene Highness.”

“This is my friend George.” Melbourne stifled a sigh, feeling his good mood evaporate, and nodded to the prince’s companion. Albert turned to his friend and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Dear one, I wish to speak with Lord Melbourne. Wait for me in the apartment, if you please.”

 “Come, let us step inside.” Albert led him into the largest drawing room.

Melbourne was determined to remain watchful, despite the oddly engaging manner of this new Albert, so different from the stiff, disapproving young Prince he’d first met. He accepted the brandy offered him.

“So, Lord Melbourne – William, if I may? – all is well with you and Victoria?” The mobile, expressive Teutonic features, the dark eyes, belonged to a genial young man determined to make himself agreeable.

“I believe so, Your Highness,” Melbourne answered noncommittally. He leaned back against the ornate sideboard and Albert did likewise, almost mirroring his movement.

“Are things clearer to you now, than they were previously? Our situation? Does it change your view of the Queen’s marriage?”

Melbourne repeated the same response he gave previously. Was he expected to discuss the particulars of his intention to have an affair with this man’s – no, this _boy’s_ – wife?

“And - you must forgive me; I am willing to answer any questions you have for me in return– you are now aware that ours is a marriage in name only, to appease both our families and your very importunate Privy Council? The Queen has _completely_ explained?”

Melbourne realized he could hardly give the same response a third time. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Your Parliament has only awarded me £30,000 a year, but if there is an heir born to the Queen, that will double.” Albert’s tone was playful, with laughter seeming about to bubble over. Melbourne nodded, unsure what response could possibly be suitable.

“I would so like that increased. I myself am not expensive, but George would very much like to apprentice himself to a prominent British architect and it will cost much to buy him a position suited to his talents. And my father and brother are both clamoring for more already.”

“£30,000 is the entire annual revenue for the Duchy of Coburg, Your Highness. I would think your father should be satisfied with anything you send him.”

“I’m sure you are right. However…there will not _be_ an heir from me, although of course I will welcome and recognize any child the Queen should have.” Albert shrugged delicately. Melbourne thought the young man must be quite appealing in his own milieu. His own mouth quirked in the slightest of smiles in return.

“Your Highness, I am sure that sentiment is most reassuring to the Queen.”

“The Queen…and whomever is fortunate enough to be the father of this great nation’s next monarch. That person will not be me. I wonder who it will be…” The liquid dark eyes, seemingly lined with kohl by the most subtle of hands, lifted to meet Melbourne’s.

“I am most grateful to the Queen for everything. I have had more freedom since our marriage than I ever dreamed possible previously. Yet I never forget the need to be discrete. I have no desire for public scandal or to discredit the monarchy. As of course you are aware, people like myself, George, and our friends, we commit a capital offense every time we are together. I know you tried once to change that law. Something none of us have ever forgotten. But for now at least, the love we show each other is still a hanging offense in this country, as it is in most Christian nations. I think you will appreciate that I have had to learn a great deal about the ways to be discrete, even in this Palace where it seems people are always watching.”

“Indeed. Such as…? He asked, turning to face the younger man. Melbourne realized that as much as he paid lip service to tolerance, and genuinely believed that neither Church nor State had business prying into the private lives of individuals, he had given little thought to the difficulty, even danger, faced by young men who preferred their own gender. Yet, who were they harming? How was such a thing so dangerous to society that men could be executed for it still? He had a new appreciation for the courage of the man before him.

“Such as…I have recently moved into my new apartments. George had a hand in designing them; you really must join us some evening soon. He did a fine job. We are able to come and go as we like and I frequently entertain visitors who are not otherwise received at Court under more formal circumstances. There is a fine apartment near mine which you might like. I believe your current rooms at the Palace are quite distant, in a guest wing. If you agree, I can give instructions that you be moved. Victoria has given me charge of all such arrangements in her Palaces. I thought perhaps the former Consort’s suite adjoining the Queen’s apartment would give rise to too much discussion, if you were to occupy it, but I think you will find the new apartment greatly to your liking. And of course, it will be quite convenient for the Queen when she wishes to discuss…politics.”

Melbourne cleared his throat and reached for the brandy decanter. His neck cloth suddenly felt too tight and he wished he might loosen it a trifle. “As…” he coughed a bit to clear his throat. “As Your Highness says, if Her Majesty finds it convenient I am amenable to any change you propose.”

“Very well. George will be happy to show you the space, and implement any changes you would like.” Prince Albert laughed boyishly, without malice. “I can see I am verging on being _indelicate_. This could be awkward for both of us, and I don’t wish it to be. I think we all have to learn how to trust each other, you and I and our Victoria. Please –“ Although Melbourne had made no move to leave, Albert touched his arm as though to detain him. “Let me only say that I sincerely want her to be as happy as she made me, and I would like us to become good friends.”

Albert went on to talk of other matters, inconsequential things which Melbourne was readily able to discuss freely. He was not comfortable discussing Victoria with her husband, but to himself he acknowledged Albert’s apparent sincerity and knew that, as far as such things could be said, he was being given reassurance that he had her husband’s blessing to pursue this _affair_. But Melbourne not only found that word distasteful in connection to his love, his innocent girl, he was reminded of other instances when a husband had offered open encouragement before disaster ensued. Husbands could change their minds, very publicly, when it suited them, and Melbourne would allow no such disaster to befall his Victoria.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Melbourne remembered little of his return to South Street. Upon arriving he’d indicated his intention to retire immediately and retreated to his bedchamber. Wrapped in his old brocade dressing gown, Melbourne had warmed a snifter of French brandy in two hands and sank into an armchair by the grate. Finally –  _finally –_  he  could allow his thoughts free rein. That strange feeling bubbling up inside of him he finally realized was joy. No matter how many difficulties lay ahead, the path was now clear. His girl –  _his_  darling Victoria, for so he had thought of her only in his most private moments - loved  _him_ , wanted  _him_  and after too much protesting for far too long, dammit, he would have her.

His heart swelled until he thought he could not bear it, remembering how she’d stood before him for the second time boldly declaring herself. No, not boldly this time around. He’d wounded her deeply by his rejection once, yet she still found the courage to try again.

That he loved her, adored her, was weak-kneed as a boy in her presence, had never for an instant been in doubt.  _God knows, I desire her. I’ve shown that by far too many nocturnal awakenings, stirred to completion as no man my age should be; I’ve struggled constantly in her presence to keep those longings at bay_. Melbourne knew knew that his only remaining hesitancy came as much from the prospect of having her only to lose her, as it did recognition of the risk of scandal. He remained bitterly awareness of the huge gap in age between them; he was approaching the far end of middle age and infirmities would creep in sooner rather than later. She was far too young to look ahead and see what he would be in ten years, when she was still a young woman. He pushed those thoughts away. She was young but she was clear-sighted, and they’d been in each other’s company much of every day for nearly three years.  _She loves me, she returns my love_ , the refrain sang in his mind.

And scandal –  _how well I know scandal! The public humiliation of the lampoons. The rags which printed their filth for the amusement of the masses. She was touched by their crude filth during the Flora Hastings matter; had heard and taken perverse delight in being called “Mrs. Melbourne” by the crowds. She had been silent, too embarrassed to speak when she saw_  Susannah and the Elders _depicted in cartoon likeness, and understood its allusion, the girl Queen riding between himself and Palmerston, both of them wearing lecherous grins._ The possibility, no matter how remote, bringing down a thousand-year monarch if the Radical Reformers and the new merchant class with their derision for the corrupt aristocracy joined forces with fundamentalist preachers to bring down an adulterous queen and turn the nation into a Republic – was an effective deterrent to the most ardent passion. The spectacle of the Norton fiasco, the Branden debacle, happening again with this innocent, honest, loving girl at the center of a scandal was too horrible to contemplate. Melbourne thought he wasn’t  _entirely_  rationalizing, even to himself, when he considered that her marriage was no true marriage, and her husband, as convincing an ally as he was, had as much or more to lose as they did if he were to withdraw his support. As Albert had himself pointed out, sodomy was a capital offense, the most serious of crimes and whether or not that law made any sense, there it was. They would be careful, very careful, and conduct themselves with discretion. He would allow no mistakes, permit no scandal,  _but she would be his to hold and to love._

Melbourne only gradually realized he was smiling and allowed the unaccustomed buoyancy of spirit to lift him once more.  _The most endlessly fascinating, delightful, desirable girl in the world, whom he adored with all his being, loved him!_  He’d been a fool once and they’d all paid the price. He would not be fool enough to turn down a last chance at happiness.

**

Victoria was sitting alone in her bedchamber, her white lace night gown luminescent in the moonlight, when her husband entered. She startled and looked over her shoulder, relaxing when she saw who it was.

“May I come in?” Albert asked politely, standing in the doorway. Victoria nodded and moved to one side of the window seat, making room for him.

“I saw your Lord Melbourne leaving. He stayed later than usual. He did not choose to spend the night?” Albert saw, from the manner in which she looked down and away, that Victoria was uncomfortable with the mention of his name.

“It is all right, Victoria,” He said softly, lowering his long lanky frame to sit beside her. Victoria turned to him, looking up with the moonlight making a corona against her dark hair. “I understand what it is to love. I want you to be happy.”

“I am not sure what to do, Albert. It is so difficult, when…when as a Queen I must lead, and yet I do not know how.”

Albert smiled ruefully. She really was absurdly tiny and adorable, he thought, like a kitten one could hold in their hand. But a kitten with sharp claws, all the same.

“Such a thing must be more difficult when your heart is engaged, than when you are striking a bargain with your cousin.”

“It is. There is no protocol to guide me.” They smiled together. “I am sure if I were a man, such things would be much simpler to arrange. My uncles seemed to have no difficulty.”

“He loves you, Victoria, and he is a man. He will find a way. I hope you both know you can count on me to stand your friend.”

“I do, Albert. Thank you. And I’m sure William does too.” Victoria tasted his name, rolled it around in her mouth, liking the feel of the grown-up intimacy its use implied. She knelt and kissed the Prince’s cheek softly.

The next morning Melbourne arrived promptly at nine, as Victoria was finishing her coffee in the breakfast room. He knelt and kissed her hand as he always did, then rose and lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

“I apologize, ma’am. Am I early? Shall I wait in your office?” Melbourne noted with delight the color rising to her cheeks. He would enjoy seeing the effect he had on her.

“Lord M! No, the fault is mine. I arose late this morning.” She betrayed her nervousness with a sweet flustered manner.

“Did you have a late evening, Your Majesty? Or did you not sleep well?” Victoria looked up at him in embarrassment.

“I – I did not fall asleep until quite late, Lord M.”

“That is a remarkable coincidence, ma’am. I did not either. I daresay you must have had much on your mind, as did I.” He stepped back to allow her to proceed past him. “Shall we? Business awaits.”

Victoria was glad of the protocol which demanded he walk several paces behind. She felt entirely discombobulated by the new understanding between them – or was it merely  _awareness_? – and not entirely pleased at the lack of their normal ease. Victoria wondered frantically how she should act.

Melbourne followed her into her private office and closed the door as he always did. Victoria squared her shoulders and schooled her features into a business-like expression, walking around the big desk.

“The dispatches have arrived, ma’am. Shall I go through them and call out any requiring your special attention?” Melbourne stood at attention before her desk and waited for her to use her key to unlock the first of the two red boxes.

“Yes, please, Lord Melbourne,” Victoria said in her most dignified tone, keeping her eyes lowered as she lifted the lid.

Melbourne lifted out a sheaf of documents and flipped quickly through them. “Here is one which we should review, ma’am. A report from the Governor of Canada.” He moved to stand behind her, close by her left shoulder, and read from the report, extracting key passages and adding succinct commentary, amusing when he could make it so. Gradually he perceived the tension in her shoulders loosen as she focused on the matters at hand.

He could detect a very light scent, tantalizing, indescribable, something that hinted at summer sun and some light floral – lilies of the valley perhaps. He could see how soft the skin was on the back of her neck, covered with silky baby-fine hairs escaping from her neat chignon.

“Lord M?” Melbourne became aware she’d asked him something. Rather than pretend the answer to a question he hadn’t heard, he smiled a little.

“I am sorry, ma’am. I was – distracted. Could you repeat that?”

It was Victoria’s turn to smile. “Distracted? When you’re with your Queen? Lord M, I am surprised at you. Whatever could be more important than Canadian land grants?” Melbourne saw she was teasing, even flirting with him.

“I will attend more carefully, ma’am, I promise.” His expression was softly amused, but his eyes were watchful, seeking permission as he bent toward her. When his lips lightly brushed the exact spot in the hollow behind her ear, a shiver ran through her and she moved sinuously, arching her back toward him. His expression still infinitely tender, Melbourne rested his hands gently on her shoulders for just a moment.

“Shall I continue, ma’am?” Melbourne resumed reading, smiling to himself when he heard the Queen’s soft sigh of frustration.

**

Melbourne continued his established routine, arriving with the dispatches from the previous day at nine in the morning and work through them with the Queen as her Private Secretary. They would then ride out or stroll in the gardens for an hour afterward unless some pressing business demanded him back at the House. He returned most days to dine at the Palace and join whatever evening’s entertainment had been planned, or attend the Queen in her drawing room. On those evenings which ended particularly late he might stay in his Palace bedchamber.  On a few occasions when they were deep in conversation the others – Albert, if he were present, his companion and the gentlemen of his household, the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting – would retire, leaving Melbourne and the Queen alone. Then, and only then, would he risk sitting beside her for a few stolen moments, embrace her almost chastely, even kiss her, but always aware that they could be interrupted at any time and servants had a highly attuned sixth sense for impropriety by which they could profit. The  _frisson_  of desire grew between them, delicious, exhilarating but also frustrating and, to him, quite maddening. But protecting her, his Queen, was paramount.

Albert watched the situation between his wife and her would-be lover with equal parts interest and amusement. It was a topic of discussion in his apartment, with sweet, serious George providing the voice of propriety and restraint when the speculation grew too risqué. Likewise, George was reticent about approaching Lord Melbourne in a way which might imply he was seeking patronage, while Albert insisted that an introduction, no more, to the man whose design had won the commission to rebuilt the Houses of Parliament, was hardly patronage. George pointed out reasonably that an introduction by the Prime Minister could hardly be taken as anything but the boldest of stratagems to secure a position.

Melbourne himself, whom George later praised effusively as the best, the most noble of men, brought up the topic in the Queen’s drawing room after dinner one evening, when Albert suggested George pass around his book of architectural drawings. It was quickly settled that George would call on Lord Melbourne at his office in Whitehall and they would go together to visit the dig with the Home Secretary and chief architect of the project. Melbourne found he actually enjoyed playing mentor to the young man, and if slogging around the muddy acres was not an activity he would have sought out, it served at least to thoroughly exhaust him and inform him how little he knew of the project to rebuild his own Parliament.

Prince Albert joined them for dinner in London and contributed his detailed description of the great concrete raft being constructed to serve as the building’s foundation, effusively describing such things as the diversion of sewers and the purpose of a  _coffer-dam_ , prompting Melbourne to puzzle over the habit of very serious people to assume that greater detail and not less would make a boring subject more interesting.

Ending their dinner with bottles of good port, Albert proposed a weekend sojourn to Melbourne’s country home for the expressed purpose of allowing the young architect to view what he called “one of the loveliest of the Palladian style English country homes”. Melbourne extended the invitation and Prince Albert promptly accepted on the Queen’s behalf.

It was a merry, carefree group which set out for the vicinity of Hatfield on a Saturday morning. The Queen insisted on riding. In the country, away from censorious eyes, she would ride astride, but leaving London on the main road she must needs ride side saddle in a proper habit.

Brocket Hall was some two hours away, an easy ride under a mild April sky. Victoria’s maid travelled in the carriage, luggage strapped behind, and the only Lady-in-Waiting who accompanied the Queen followed in her own carriage. Lady Emma Portman lived on the estate adjoining Lord Melbourne’s and would part company with the Queen once their destination was reached, to reacquaint herself with her husband, so she said. 

The Queen rode easily beside her Prime Minister, their mounts accustomed from long-established habit to canter in tandem, in such proximity the horses’ shoulders and flanks frequently touched. Fortunately neither animal was wont to be skittish, for their riders often lost all awareness of their surroundings as they chatted and laughed and, sometimes, lapsed into silence, smiling into each other’s eyes. The required Household guard rode a discrete distance ahead, inclined to clear the way of livestock and other vehicles except the Queen gave contrary orders. They would wait and proceed only when traffic allowed. It was not, after all, a formal procession and she wished to avoid undue attention.

Victoria, basking in the simple pleasure of the ride and his nearness, was pleased to see how  _happy_  Melbourne seemed, with little of the restraint or subtle tension she often saw in that handsome face. The breeze idly blew his dark curls about and she longed to reach out and touch him, marveling that this quite wonderful man was her friend, her companion, her love. Victoria’s gaze dropped to his hands, resting easily in front of him holding the reins. They were beautiful hands, strong and well-tended as a gentleman’s should be, with long slim fingers that were so gentle when he touched her. Perhaps, Victoria thought, this weekend, at his country house, away from the Palace with all its watchers and spies, perhaps they would...

She did not know precisely what  _it_  would entail, and when she tried to imagine the particulars, it all seemed horribly complicated and embarrassing. Yet she craved something she could not quite describe but knew it must come from him, and wanted him to find in her what he’d sought from those other women in his past.

Victoria remembered virtually nothing of Brocket Hall from her previous visit – only those awful minutes in the rookery and her flight afterward – and so she looked forward eagerly to see the family home where he’d grown up.

This time, Lord M himself lifted her lightly down from her mount and kept her arm in his as he led her to the door. An elderly butler and housekeeper stood in attendance, with a phalanx of footmen and housemaids hurriedly assembling themselves for inspection. Melbourne presented his long-time retainers to her and waved a hand vaguely over the rest. Victoria smiled graciously as they bowed and curtsied before her, and was grateful for Lady Portman, sweeping past and giving brisk direction for the disposition of luggage and procuring of refreshments.

After Victoria surrendered to Miss Skerrett’s ministrations with hot water and hair brush, and changed out of her riding habit into a day gown and light shawl, she joined the gentlemen and Lady Portman. Albert asked a few questions about agricultural methods in the area, which to Victoria’s surprise Lady Portman answered most knowledgably – “Did you know, Your Highness, William’s mother, Lady Elizabeth was quite the agriculturist amongst her other talents? She was the first to introduce use of a seed drill in this neighborhood.”

While his companion George questioned Melbourne on the provence of various pieces, Prince Albert peppered Lady Portman on her own husband’s active interest in agricultural improvement using modern technology. She was pleased enough to expound at some length, albeit with gentle humor, on her husband’s founding membership in the Agricultural Society and his recent success the Alderney breed of cattle.                                                  

Victoria thought how lovely and serene it all was, scaled to a size meant for living, not running an empire. They were in a modestly-sized family drawing room where blue striped silk lined the walls and the furniture was likewise upholstered in pale blue and gray silk. She quite looked forward to exploring the rest of Lord M's beautiful home.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Melbourne showed them the Romney portrait of his mother, the Lady Elizabeth Lamb, a strikingly beautiful woman with rich chestnut hair. Victoria looked at it closely, seeking some resemblance to Lord M. He showed them the portrait of the three Lamb brothers as children and Victoria was charmed at the beautiful four year old who would grow up to become her Prime Minister. They viewed Sir Matthew Lamb, the first Viscount Peniston Lamb, Melbourne’s elder brother Peniston, Melbourne himself as a young man just a year younger than Victoria was now.

Directly across from the main entrance, in the most prominent location, they came to the striking image of a young woman. Her hair was cropped into a cap of glossy brown curls, and she looked so vivid and lifelike Victoria thought she could come to life at any moment and it would surprise no one. She was entrancing, something about that piquant face and speaking eyes captivated Victoria. Melbourne had not offered a name to go with the portrait and she looked at him questioningly.

“Caro,” he said simply. Victoria suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, yet she could not look away. Something about the _spirit_ of the woman in the picture compelled her attention.

“Caro and I were just a few years older than you are now, when that was done, ma’am. She and William had only just been married a year. Never have I seen a man so instantly infatuated with a woman as he was with Caro.” Lady Portman spoke while Melbourne said nothing and a long uncomfortable silence ensued.

George stepped forward and pointed out an imposing arch, admired some wainscoating he found quite distinctive. He recited some detail about the significance of the design and Melbourne answered him as best he could from memory, pointing out intricate carvings.

The two of them walked ahead, discoursing about the work of the original architect retained by Melbourne’s father, leaving Victoria and Albert in their wake. She looked up at Albert gratefully and realized just how _comforting_ it was to have a brother at one’s side, protective and undemanding, for that was how she considered him, far more than mere cousin. _How much more bearable Kensington would have been under Conroy’s tyranny if I had had a brother,_ she thought wistfully. _But then you would not be Queen at all,_ she reminded herself _, nor would you have learned to be strong._

They followed along on the tour, both Victoria and Albert appreciative of George’s enthusiasm, for neither of them had a particular interest in buildings and Victoria found herself far less excited about the visit than previously. She was aware of an unpleasant sense of disorientation. Victoria intensely disliked any sense of being at a disadvantage, without the familiar pillars of support around her, Lehzen, servants willing to do one’s bidding, even Mama and Uncle Leopold. The peculiar sense of vulnerability made her all the more appreciative of Albert at her side and even dear Miss Skerrett, waiting to tend to her.

Thus, when they had circled back to the library and Albert surprised Victoria by announcing suddenly that he and George wished to ride about the neighborhood and explore, she protested. George, Victoria noticed, seemed quite as surprised as she herself was; he acquiesced with good enough grace, far more than Victoria herself felt capable of.

“I think you need not leave _now_ , Albert,” she said somewhat more sharply than she’d intended, wishing she could stamp her foot. “We have only just arrived and it would be discourteous to our host if you leave now.”

“But I think we must, if we are to take advantage of daylight. Lady Portman, may we follow you? If you think your husband would not mind, I would like to learn more of his experimental plots.” Albert gently removed Victoria’s hand from his arm and inclined his head. That lady clearly was unwilling to thwart her Queen, while feeling herself equally unable to deny the sovereign’s consort, looking from one to the other. Melbourne kept his expression impassive, leaning against the mantle behind them. His eyes, however, were watchful and assessing, studying Victoria.

“Very well, then. Go look at _cows_ or _plows_ or _whatever_ you find so important. If you must.” Victoria’s brows came together in an unmistakable scowl. Unmoved, the Prince only inclined his head in acknowledgment and took his leave.

Victoria walked stiffly to the window overlooking the long drive, watching their departure. She hated the awkwardness, that sense of being out of place, where she had only a single maid to command and no _allies_ – the word suggested itself, and it seemed apt. She had only herself, in what felt like a suddenly unwelcoming environment, and that was enough like those awful dark years at Kensington she did what she’d done then: squared her shoulders and straightened her spine and settled her features into an expression of icy detachment.

“Would you like to see the greenhouses where your flowers grow?” Melbourne asked. Victoria continued gazing out the window and only slowly turned, as though the matter was of supreme indifference. _You are a Queen_. _Nothing else matters. In Elizabeth’s time, you could seize this house and raze it if you chose and nobody would dare object._ She was not precisely certain where her sudden foul mood came from, but the old familiar anger was comforting.

Melbourne led her out of a side entrance and towards a grand glass structure that she recognized immediately as an elaborate succession-house. He carried on as though he had not noticed her change in demeanor, which was infuriating. Victorian expected that at any moment he would ask her what troubled her, would reach out and – _apologize? for what?  For reminding me I am not the first to love him? For having a portrait of his wife in what had been her home? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Lord M_ – she rehearsed the words in her mind, the cool remote expression with which she would deliver them, but frustratingly, he carried on as though the _Queen’s_ reserve was not worthy of notice.

It was a warm enough day for early spring, but inside the great glass structure the air was as warm and humid as mid-summer, filled with the delicious aroma of earth and growing things. A man worked with a boy, his apprentice or son, troweling rich black soil around the roots of a great transplanted tree. Melbourne pointed out various plants and small trees from distant places – a lemon tree, a pomegranate, a lime – as he led her to the area where flowers of every description bloomed. She maintained her silence throughout, avoiding his eyes.

When they were surrounded by flowers Melbourne became more animated, describing each, their Latin and common names, which would remain inside and which would soon be transplanted into the planting beds around the estate. Victoria, curious despite herself, leaned over one beautiful plant, then another, inhaling the perfumed fragrances. When they reached the gardenias he snipped one off and tucked it behind her ear in a gesture so swift she was unprepared to greet it with the cool disdain she intended. It would have been quite childish to protest after the fact, she decided, and so permitted the liberty without comment.

“Do you remember what these are?” Melbourne gently parted the petals on a tightly furled blossom so she could see the dark center.”

He leaned forward to capture her gaze, so close Victoria could not help but look into those beautiful dark eyes.  When he began to laugh softly at her reflexive pout, Victoria felt anger sweep over her. _How dare he laugh at me?_

“You are so very young. Far too young for me, of course. And yet…how can I resist loving you?” He sighed and for a horrifying moment Victoria thought he sounded genuinely regretful. _Was he saying he was_ sorry _for loving her? Or was he saying he_ loved _her?_ Confused and frustrated, annoyed and no longer certain why, Victoria huffed and tried to turn away. He held her head in both hands and kissed her. Victoria was overwhelmed by her own response, kissing him back, softening, relaxing into him. She pulled away angry at her own weakness.

“Victoria, look at me.” He still held her head, gently, in his warm soft hands, and turned her face up. “Talk to me.” She kept her expression stony, knowing if she was not vigilant he would see hurt and insecurity rather than anger, and that was not acceptable, it would be an affront to her dignity and sense of self. He sighed and drew her to him. “My dear girl, you must talk to me…tell me what you are feeling when something upsets you. I am not John Conroy. I am not your enemy and I would never hurt you intentionally so you need not hide your feelings from me.”

He led her to an old wicker armchair and, sitting down, pulled her into his lap. She momentarily considered leaping up but realized if she struggled she would only look ridiculous.

“I am not a child. Please do not treat me as though I am.” Victoria spoke with all the considerable dignity she could muster, crossing her arms and turning away.

“No, you’re not a child. Perhaps you never were. You are my Queen,” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “And you are the woman I love. I wish you were my wife, and you would be, had I not been a damned fool and turned you away. But here we are. Victoria, you are not the first woman I loved, but you will be the last. I suspect I will need to remind you of that again, because I’ve lived a full life and from time to time you are going to encounter reminders of my past. But I love you now, and will love you for the rest of my life, however long that may be.”

She could not meet his eyes and instead watched her traitorous hand reach for him, her fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt.

“I am aware I am young, and ignorant of many things, and you have me at a disadvantage. I do not belong here; I wish I had not come.” She was pleased that her voice was level, neither whining nor harsh.

“I am sorry if you feel that way. I believe your predecessors frequently went on tours of the countryside, bringing their entire courts to stay at the homes of nobility. I think it was an economy for the sovereign.” He smiled, hoping to win a small smile in return.

“Then I should have brought my court. It is most improper for me to be here alone.” Victoria was aware as soon as she spoke of how absurd she sounded in light of the understanding between them, but could not seem to regain her emotional equilibrium.

“Emma was rather tactless, wasn’t she?” He spoke lightly, as though the matter was of little importance. “But she spoke the truth. I had a wife and once we were young and I loved her. That was longer ago than you have been alive. Now…I have you, I think, I hope. Perhaps Emma does not understand, or perhaps she does and wishes not to.”

Victoria watched as that same treacherous hand reached up and stroked his soft dark hair, shot through with silver strands. In turn, he reached out and gently took the pins from her hair, so it spilled out over her shoulders like a cape.

“I cherish the fact that you are young. It most definitely does not put you at a disadvantage. Quite the contrary, ma’am. I am honored that beyond all understanding you have chosen to love me in return. May I ask only that you are honest with me? If something makes you uncomfortable or hurts your feelings or –“

“I do not allow my feelings to be hurt. Ever. It makes one weak. I get angry instead, because that strengthens me.” Melbourne listened carefully to her words and the passionate intensity with which she spoke, thinking that it was one more key to understanding. He did not answer; there was no need.

Melbourne glanced about to be sure they were unobserved, but they were in a protected enclosure surrounded by thick foliage, and the gardener had trundled a wheelbarrow outside with his helper. He stroked her neck and traced the lace edging on her gown before he cupped her breast in his palm, running his thumb back and forth over her nipple until it hardened painfully. Victoria gasped out a breath and shivered. She shifted position to accommodate the unfamiliar feelings compelling her to move, and then it was his turn to gasp sharply. When Victoria looked her question at him he guided her hand to the place he needed it to be.

His breath came more rapidly and his expression changed. Victoria was delighted with the effect she had on him, with her discovery and the heady sense of power it gave. She allowed her fingers to explore, carefully noting which movements achieved the greatest effect.  She saw him swallow hard and lean his head back, dragging air in through his mouth. _I’m doing that!_ she thought. He gripped her wrist and held her hand in place. “Ssshhh…” he murmured nonsensically, needing her to stop, desperate for her to continue. “Don’t …”

“I like that very much. But I think this is not the place to continue.” For several minutes he studied her, his breath slowing and becoming more regulated, eyes tender, mouth curved in a small smile. Then he gently nudged her off his lap and rose.

“May I come to you tonight?” He asked, his voice whispery-hoarse and solemn. “May I come to your bed, Victoria?”

She looked up at him and nodded with equal solemnity, as if they were sealing a pact.

**

He showed her through the rest of the greenhouse, paused to explain an odd, rather ugly plant, plucked a small orange from low branches heavy with fruit and gave it to her. The gardener’s boy showed her a basket of kittens and she crouched down over the small furry things, cooing with pleasure.

They strolled over the long rear lawns where the first crocuses were pregnant with promise. As they walked he held her hand easily, the gesture both innocent and speaking of new intimacy, for he had never done so before. She savored the feel of her palm pressed against his.

Back in the house, Victoria hastily twisted her loose hair into a rough knot at the back of her head for propriety’s sake and dropped her shawl over the arm of a chair.

“Come, let me show you the rest of the house and we’ll see where they put your things.” As they passed through the main hallway Melbourne saw Victoria avert her eyes and stiffen slightly when they neared the large portrait of his late wife. He took her arm and steered her towards it once more.

“My darling girl, you must forget that foolishness I once told you when I thought it was my duty to turn you away. I am not in love with her any longer. At the end of her life – for much of our marriage – I continued to love and support her, but I was no longer in love with her.

Caro was a unique being. Not bad, not wicked, no matter what people say. She was a wild thing, elemental like fire and wind and wood…rather like you in that way. A force of nature. Not chaste, but not wicked, never wicked.” Victoria allowed herself to be soothed by the sound of his voice, low and intimate and caressing as though he wished to share secrets with her, not keep them from her.  She was reassured by the feel of him standing closely behind her, his arms wrapped about her, hands resting at her waist.

Melbourne for his part sensed that he must maintain physical contact with her, so that she did not slip away behind that icy mask which so long hid her tender feelings from a harsh, controlling caretaker. He lightly rested his lips against her hair and continued.

“What drove her was an excess of sensibility, I think. And I was no model husband then. We each took our pleasure where we found it and were foolish enough to think it did not matter. One of the very few benefits of growing older is an appreciation for what does matter most.”

“She is still your wife, mistress of this house,” Victoria said softly. “And she will always be your wife. I do not belong here, not…like this. Brocket Hall is her home.”

“This is _my_ home.  I brought her here once and now I bring you. I want you to feel at home, to come to love Brocket Hall as I do. Perhaps someday…there will be a child, who can come here sometimes and explore the parks, have adventures in the wood, as my brothers and I did.”

 

They walked through rooms and down wide corridors hand-in-hand. Amused at his own sudden lack of restraint, Melbourne found that he could not keep his hands off her. If he gave his desires free rein he would sweep her off now to his bedchamber and lock the door, hiding them away from the world, the household…and his other guests, most notably her husband, who would be returning soon. He held her hand, lacing her fingers between his own. Now that he knew with certainty he would be with her that night, the day couldn’t end soon enough to please him. Victoria soaked up his attentions, rubbing herself against him like a small demanding feline, arching her neck so that he could reach the most tender spot, leaning into him, pressing herself into his hand wherever it touched her.

“You are lovely as always, ma’am, but perhaps you wish your maid to do your hair. It seems to be in some disarray.” Melbourne smiled cheekily and Victoria laughed.

“And whose fault is that, my lord?”

 “Would you like to see more of the upstairs? I will show you my rooms.” She widened her eyes, flirting unabashedly. “As a point of interest only, ma’am. Then I will surrender you to your maid so you can dress for dinner. Albert and George will return soon. And no matter how...supportive he is, we should be downstairs to greet him."

Melbourne led her up the grand curving stairway and opened the door to the master suite. Victoria immediately felt enveloped by the essence of its occupant and thought she have known without being told whose apartment it was. Books and papers were piled everywhere, odd items of clothing strewn about, and the wonderful scent of _him_ permeated the air, some tantalizing blend of sandalwood and spice and leather and masculinity. The well-polished dark wood, gleaming brass hardware and rich jewel-toned hangings suited him well, Victoria thought.

“I love this room!” Victoria exclaimed delightedly. Melbourne watched from the doorway with an indulgent smile as she walked about, stroking the soft worn velvet draperies, laying a hand on the fabric of his old dressing gown as though petting a small animal. The paintings on the walls here were all landscapes and medieval scenes, she noted with relief. Returning to where he stood, Victoria stood directly in front of him with her face turned up, lips pursed; he obliged her with a light kiss.

“This is the family wing,” he explained. “On the other side of the center is the guest wing.” He paused before the next closed door. “This was Caroline’s chamber. I don’t believe it’s been altered since her death, purely through inattention. Would you like to see it?”

He opened the door to a large space, dimly lit because of the covered windows, furnishings dusted but with a neglected air nonetheless. She stepped inside reluctantly, seeing the predominant rose-pink hues, the velvet chaise, hairbrushes still laid out on the dressing table, modest jewel box open as though someone had only recently been choosing a necklace or brooch.

“No Bluebeard’s Chamber. You are welcome to look. I should have gone through her things long ago, but through sheer disinclination I avoided the task. I am sure there are many things in here her family would want. I will implore Emily to take a hand in going through everything.”

“Where did they put you?” He asked when they’d returned to the corridor. “Nearby, I hope.”

Victoria went to the fourth door in the corridor, nearest the main gallery, where she’d left Miss Skerrett brushing off her riding habit earlier. Melbourne looked at her, surprised. “One moment, ma’am,” he said, going to the hallway and barking out the name of his major domo. The elderly retainer hurried up the stairs, still gasping for breath from the urgency of his summons. Melbourne gave orders in a clipped tone, sounding harsher than Victoria had ever heard him when addressing a servant. The man murmured some indistinct reply; Victoria understood only a single, unfamiliar name.

“I apologize, ma’am. This room is far too small for you and not ready for occupancy --although it will be _emptied_ promptly.” This, with a pointed look at the major domo shifting nervously from one foot to another. “In the meantime, they will move you to my mother’s former apartment, where you should have been situated. I think you’ll like it, it is much grander and more suitable for the mistress of the house. She never relinquished it while she was alive.”

While her maid and the housekeeper readied the new suite of rooms Melbourne showed her the nursery, explaining that Augustus had not tolerated change and so he remained in the nursery as an adult, with only the addition of a larger bed. The space otherwise remained as it had been throughout his childhood, including an ornate antique cradle intended for the baby girl who had only lived a day.

“You would like to have a child, Victoria? Have you given it any thought?”

“Of course I need an heir; it is why they insisted I marry so young. The process seems quite unpleasant, and dangerous, and then there is a small creature one must care for, who cries incessantly and is quite messy.”

“Ah yes, there are those drawbacks,” Melbourne answered lightly, understanding she spoke from inexperience and the tragedy of her cousin Charlotte as a grim reminder. Her own mother had easily birthed three children, and her half-sister already had a promising nursery. In due course, he hoped, she might alter her opinion.

“Shall we see your suite? It is still decorated as my mother had it; please ask for any alterations you like so it is to your taste. That will now be the Queen’s bedchamber at Brocket Hall…Mrs. Melbourne.” Victoria dimpled prettily, liking as she always had the sound of what others had intended to be an insult. As he led her down the corridor, Victoria only wondered idly who _Susan_ was.


	10. Chapter 10

Victoria luxuriated in a hot scented bath. She chose her clothing with special care, discarding several gowns before settling on a dark blue watered silk with quite daring neckline over the newest and softest of her chemises, blushing when she imagined undressing later. Her mind went quite blank as she tried to picture precisely what he would do, what  _she_  would be expected to do. She wanted to be prepared, so that she would be perfect for him in every way and she almost asked her maid if the girl might know what happened between a man and a woman. She began to speak several times and stopped, unable to find the right words.

Skerrett looked at her expectantly, trying to anticipate what her mistress might need. “Is there anything else, ma’am? I think you look exceptionally fine tonight. Shame it’s only for a country dinner with no special guests.”

“Lord M will be here!” Victoria corrected her. “He is the  _most_  special of men, and the only one I care to impress.”

“Have you been assigned a bedroom, Skerrett? In the servants’ quarters, perhaps?”

“Yes, ma’am, I believe so, but I thought you’d want me at hand so I made up a pallet in the dressing room..”

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Skerrett. I appreciate your suggestion but I think you will be more comfortable in a room of your own. Please speak to the housekeeper about it, and move your things there.” Victoria smiled warmly to soften her tone. “Now…how do I look?”

Melbourne was already dressed for dinner and waiting when Victoria was escorted in by a footman in unfamiliar livery. Early spring dusk had settled outside and he wondered idly whether Prince Albert and his friend would return. He looked up and was momentarily spellbound by the sight of her. Always lovely to him, Victoria seemed to shimmer in the candlelight.  _Mine_ , he tasted the word.  _She will be in my arms at last._

“You look lovely. Brocket Hall is honored. When Matthew Lamb built this pile, he envisioned entertaining royalty someday. I’m sure he would be pleased at your Majesty’s presence. However,” He twisted his mouth into a teasing smile.  “The servants will be disappointed that you wear no crown. I think most of them intend to serve us at dinner in some capacity or another, so do not be surprised to be attended by a veritable army. Word has spread that a Queen is dining at Brocket Hall.”

“Should I return and see if we brought a tiara? I’m afraid the Imperial Crown never leaves the Tower to travel.” Her light tone pleased him and he thought it boded well for her comfort, despite the energized, heightened awareness he perceived just under her elegant veneer.

“Nonsense! They will have to take your word for it you are a Queen. I myself could never doubt the fact, crown or not. But then, they have not much experience entertaining royalty.”

“Do you have a great deal of experience entertaining Queens, Lord M?” She asked saucily.

“As a matter of fact, ma’am…you are my first.” Melbourne allowed his eyes to warm and caress her.

Melbourne was interrupted by yet another footman, bearing a silver tray holding a folded piece of paper. Melbourne glanced at the masculine handwriting and smiled to himself, pleased and quite amused.

“Your – “ Melbourne’s voice cracked and he began again. “The Prince Consort writes that he and George encountered an acquaintance of George’s and have ridden on to spend the night near Luton.”

“Near where?”

“Luton, ma’am.” His lips were twitching now, in a failing effort to suppress his mirth.

“Why on earth does he wish to stay in Luton? What is in Luton, Lord M?”

“Luton Hoo,” Melbourne replied, eyes dancing.

“Luton Who?” Victoria asked, tilting her head.

“Luton Hoo, ma’am,” He managed before giving in to the laughter he was no longer able to suppress. “No, really, I am quite serious. It belonged to the Earl of Bute. Seemingly it is now occupied by the Earl’s grandson, the 2nd Marquess and…and now Luton Hoo is being redesigned by an architect acquaintance of George’s named Robert Smirke.”

“They ask us to excuse them. They expect to return in time to escort you back to London.”

“So that they can explore Luton Who,” Victoria said. “How very peculiar.”

“I think, ma’am, that while George must be quite excited by the prospect of discovering such a prime example of…um..classical style, I suspect Albert is exercising a great deal of…tact.”

“This will be the first time in my life I am utterly alone, without attendants, without even my cavalry officers, who are billeted some miles distant at Lady Portman’s estate,” Victoria said slowly, turning the unfamiliar idea over in her mind.

“As your Prime Minister, it is not a state of affairs I would normally recommend for security reasons. However…” his voice was so low and intimate, almost growling, she had to strain to hear. “…I believe exceptions can be made for your Prime Minister.” Victoria’s head was suddenly swimming, and she felt quite starved for air, despite the lack of any impediments. Her legs felt so weak and watery she thought she might faint, but it was a heady, pleasurable sensation that turned over in her belly.

He bent very slowly and put his lips on hers. Their kiss was so deep, and lasted so long, Victoria thought it might never end and was content with that prospect. When he finally released her he leaned his forehead against hers and breathed her name on his exhalation.

“We must dine, Your Majesty. We cannot disappoint my servants and it would be most improper if we were to disappear before dinner, leaving that phalanx of footmen waiting in vain.” Victoria turned her face up and her eyes were hungry dark pools, adoring, wanting. “If you look at me like that, I will forget my dignity, ma’am, and scandalize the household.” He ran the palms of his hands over the silky fabric of her gown and dragged in a ragged breath. “My God, you are the most desirable woman in the world. Are you sure, Victoria?”

“Oh yes! Only…what if I…disappoint you? I do not know what you expect.” He smoothed her furrowed brows with a gentle fingertip.

“My love, my darling girl, you are perfect. I only expect you to allow me to show you how perfect you are. Now…may I take you in to dinner?”

Covers were laid for two, and Melbourne was pleased to see that they were not at opposite ends of the formal table. Victoria ate little, as was her habit, and he only sampled each course so as not to disappoint his cook, hovering just out of sight dispensing dishes to what was a startling number of footmen. Melbourne wondered where they had all come from – _surely he didn’t pay them all?_ – and decided that his staff was determined to show Brocket Hall off to advantage according to what they imagined a Queen would expect.

Melbourne found he was somewhat anxious, a foolish conceit for a man of his years, having bedded innumerable women, sophisticated women with sophisticated expectations, and all of them to mutual satisfaction. And yet, he felt all the nervousness of a callow youth.  Love, he reflected, could be a disadvantage in some instances, and this was  _her_ , his Victoria, his darling girl, he loved her beyond all reason, and so wanted her night to be perfect.

He kept up a patter of light conversation, discussing mild  _on dits_ , the latest Holland House gossip, and the foibles of those courtiers who most intimidated the Queen. She laughed much, her eyes bright, and met his sallies with easy responses; but her color was heightened and knowing her as thoroughly as he did, Melbourne knew the animation was intended to conceal her anxiety. The overabundance of unfamiliar servants meant no sooner was a wineglass touched than it was refilled, and as Victoria drained hers repeatedly her voice grew slightly louder, her gestures looser. He was finally able to catch his butler’s eye and communicate silently, indicating his wish that the over-enthusiastic service should cease.

Melbourne mused that this delightful, nervous, insecure and overly exuberant young woman was precisely why he had previously conducted liaisons with older, more sophisticated society matrons who had all the poise and experience which made sliding into an affaire d'amour an effortless amusement. Very young, inexperienced females demanded so much  _effort_  for so little reward, or so he had always thought. Now, however, in the presence of  _this_  very young, inexperienced female, his heart overflowed with love and all he wanted in the world was to bring her gently, wonderfully into womanhood.

“What are you thinking of, Lord M?” Her sweet low voice broke through his reverie, and Melbourne turned to her, hearing the giddy undertone as well as the slurring in her speech.

“I am thinking of what news we will hear of Edward Portman’s crop cycles, and the new breed of cattle he’s brought down from the Highlands. It was quite inconsiderate of Albert to withhold such news in order to explore Luton Hoo.” His sally was rewarded by her light silvery laugh. “And I am thinking of you,” he added more seriously.

Melbourne looked at Victoria more closely and detected the unsteadiness in her posture. Knowing she’d drank too much too swiftly while ignoring her dinner, he resigned himself to the fact that nothing would happen with this sweet child until she recovered herself. He stood and offered his arm. “I think, ma’am, that you’ve had a long day and perhaps wish to retire. May I escort you?”

“No! I don’t wish to retire! Or rather…I don’t wish to retire  _alone_.” Victoria clung to his arm, showing him the most adorably nonsensical caricature of a seductress’s pout. Melbourne had never loved her more, or desired her less, than he did at that precise moment, as she swayed back and forth, determined to playact the role she imagined the situation demanded. The wine would swiftly overtake her, he knew, for she had little head for alcohol and the consequences of this rapid consumption were inevitable.

Melbourne led her upstairs and to her rooms. To his surprise, her maid was nowhere in sight and so she stood, looking suddenly stricken. “I sent my maid away earlier,” She groaned, unreasonably distressed. “And now I can’t manage alone. I don’t know what to do.” And with that she began to cry, huge gulping messy sobs, eyes streaming and nose running. Melbourne took her in his arms and held her. She cried messily, tears soaking the velvet of his coat, clutching hands ruining his cravat. He thought he understood that her tears came not from remorse or any change in her feelings, but from overwrought nerves, the wine she’d downed to give herself courage, and the unaccustomed uncertainty of a young woman used to being in complete control. He made soothing noises, stroking her hair, letting her cry herself out. When she raised her head and looked up at him he took out his handkerchief and wiped her face.

“I love you so much!” She wailed. “I want to…I want to…to…oh! I’m going to be sick…”

Melbourne rang for her maid. He held her head steady over a bowl, and afterward helped her sip cool water, wiped her face with a damp cloth. When the maid arrived at a run he told her only that her mistress was unwell. When he turned to leave them, Victoria grasped at his hand and wailed.  “Don’t leave…I am so sorry…I’ve ruined everything..”

“You’ve ruined nothing, my darling girl. I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. I’m only just stepping out so Miss – Skerrett, is it? – can make you more comfortable. She will summon me when you’re recovered.”

He was more than willing to stay with her but knew that her own dignity would be sorely wounded later when she remembered that he had done so. He murmured a few words to the young woman attending her and went to his own chambers.

When he was summoned by a soft tapping on his own door Melbourne tied the belt on his robe and went across the hall. Victoria’s hair had been brushed and spread out on the pillows; her lacy gown was opalescent in the light of a full moon. The maid bobbed a curtsy and stood aside. After some deliberation Melbourne sent her away. To his relief the girl was compliant. She only asked him in a careful low voice to send for her if the Queen required her presence or was further distressed by the sickness which had overtaken her.

His white shirt was loosened over his breeches; he had not presumed any further than necessary for a modicum of comfort. He had absolutely no intention – or desire – to take advantage of Victoria when she was not herself. He wanted only to sit by her, feel her warmth and guard her slumber. And, if she awoke, reassure her that his feelings were hardly so fickle, so changeable, as to be altered by a tipsy young woman’s foolish case of nerves.

Melbourne eased himself onto the bed beside her and leaned his head back against the headboard, feeling his own latent nervous energy subside. Anticipation could be an aphrodisiac, he thought, but it could be quite exhausting too. Victoria seemed to sense his presence, for without fully waking she rolled over and curled up against him, her nose pressed into his side. In repose her features were smooth and peaceful and he gently stroked her pale cheek, marveling at the softness, the purity of her skin. She threw her arm across him and her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt as though fearing he would leave once more. Melbourne resolved not to sleep, but rather to hold vigil in case she woke up ill once more, but in the end dozed off despite such intent.

He startled awake suddenly, aware that Victoria was watching him, her eyes big and liquid-dark in the moonlight.

“How do you feel?” He asked softly. “Does your head hurt?” He judged her to have emptied her system of the wine too quickly for a proper morning head ache.

“I feel quite well. And quite mortified.” Her voice was low but clear and lucid. “I made a fine mess, didn’t I?” He knew she didn’t refer only to the earlier contretemps, although he was sure she was embarrassed by it. He didn’t answer, only looked at her so she could see the love, overwhelming tenderness and devotion he felt for this indomitable yet strangely frail being. His Victoria. She lifted his hand and kissed each finger with great deliberation.

“I think it is after midnight? Happy birthday, William.” It was Sunday, March 15, 1840. He was touched that she’d remembered the day, hopeful she’d forgotten the year. Victoria rose to her knees and leaned over, putting her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him. His hands went to her hips but he resolved to follow her lead and see what would happen next. He could see the outline of her form, her breasts, the darkness below. He permitted his gaze to travel over her slowly, appreciatively.

“I was frightened. Not because I didn’t want this, but because I want it so very much and…I do not deal well with feeling…ignorant…unsure. And because I love you so very much it frightens me.” She spoke slowly, thoughtfully, choosing her words, and, he knew, offering her vulnerability up to him.

“I know,” Melbourne replied softly. Without breaking eye contact, not wanting to misjudge her responses, he gently lifted the hem of her gown. When she only shifted to free the hem from under her knees he lifted it over her head.

“Oh…” the sound escaped him like a prayer. “Beautiful. And so precious to me.” Only her long dark hair covered her, hanging down on either side of her breasts. Perfect breasts, he thought, and reverently cupped them in his hands. His thumbs ran over her nipples until they hardened, and then he kissed first one, then the other, delicately tasting each with the very tip of his tongue. When he raised his head he saw that her expression was soft, engrossed in the new sensations filling her.

He made love to her with exquisite slowness, allowing her to explore the unfamiliar feelings washing over her, wanting her to surrender to the pleasure her body was capable of. Each new touch elicited an array of responses, from softest sighs to deep, demanding groans until she was pushing herself against his hand, greedy for more. When she finally, instinctively opened herself to him he held back no longer and made her his own.

Afterward she lay in his arms, and they breathed in unison, and he thought it was the most perfect stillness he’d ever known. She finally broke the silence with a hesitant question.

“Oh, Victoria, you were perfect. You  _are_ perfect. We are perfect together. Does that answer your question?”

“I had no idea… I never imagined anything could be that wonderful. Is it always like that? Why do people ever do anything else?” He only looked at her, knowing his eyes were damp with gratitude and adoration.

They talked softly together, the nonsensical ramblings of lovers, silly musings that brought forth her silvery laughter, until he was ready – she had made him so, and seemed amazed and delighted by her discovery - and then they made love again. Nothing in his life could have prepared him for this, but neither would it have surprised him, for if William Lamb knew anything it was that the world was odd, fascinating, endlessly full of interest, and the magnificent young creature in his arms was the proof of that. If there was anything more to hope for, it was that they had made a child this night, to consecrate their love. He considered that perhaps this moment was what everything else had been for.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**April 1840**

On the night of 16 October 1834 Melbourne had watched the Houses of Parliament burn. That night the apocalyptic conflagration had seemed metaphorical, catching him in the grip of unspeakable horror. He recalled watching the flames reflected in the Thames, his heart filled with strange, mournful emotions. The England he had always known was being destroyed before his eyes, on his watch, and no one seemed to care. The scene of so much of England’s past and England’s glory was a heap of ash, and that image seemed to encompass his life as well. The men he had most revered were passing from life and now the scene of their soaring oratory was crumbling. As he watched the flames devour the history of a nation, stared at them reflected in the watery depths of the Thames, Lord Melbourne never could have imagined what the future held in store.

_And then, everything changed..._

In the spring of 1840 Lord Melbourne rode along Rotten Row under a watery April sun, his thoughts rambling in lazy circuitous routes, remembering _then_ from the perspective of _now._ He was in the fifth year of his second term as Prime Minister. Chartist disturbances had wound done and the Radicals were losing heart. If it was whispered behind hands that Lord Melbourne would never go out of office voluntarily, he was content to let it be known he stayed in to continue the lucrative sinecures it provided his cronies, rather than have the Queen be blamed for clinging too tenaciously to her Whig minister.

For three wonderful years Lord Melbourne had experienced the heady delight of being the girl- Queen’s favorite, her minister, tutor, secretary, friend and confidante, spending long hours in her company, seeing her many times every day. The extreme partiality of Her Majesty for Lord Melbourne was too well known to occasion much comment anymore, and since even his political foes Wellington and Brougham conceded that he had shown no inclination to take advantage of such lofty favoritism few found reason to complain. Still, the Whigs would have to go and the Tories come in sooner or later.

_And then, everything changed…_

The Queen’s marriage was inevitable, and friends and foes alike had warned Melbourne his days of influence would come to an end; the easy intimacy of his relationship with Victoria would be displaced naturally by her husband. Melbourne had thrown himself into the detailed wedding planning and had done his duty – his final duty of a personal nature, so it was anticipated. Even then he helplessly watched Victoria disappear in plain sight, present yet so far out of reach. For a time it felt as though the friendship, the affection, the love between them had never been. If those closest viewed his almost giddy good cheer with skepticism, none were so insensitive as to pry into what was reckoned to be a painful loss.

Of course as Prime Minister, they would still meet, but not as frequently and perhaps never again alone, so Melbourne had assumed. For weeks after the wedding Lord Melbourne did not seek audience at all, instead sending a delegate to answer Her Majesty’s questions and apprise her of any pending legislation. Onlookers nodded sagely: it was done, and all that remained was to wager how long Lord Melbourne would hang onto his office, now that the Queen was no longer dependent on him.

_And then…everything changed._

Melbourne found the rhythmic motion of his horse soothing and amenable to his contemplative mood. The park was filled with upper-class Londoners desirous of seeing and being seen, and no encounter provided more social currency than that with the popular, handsome and immensely charming Lord Melbourne. His progress was slow, but he had allowed ample time so was not unduly impatient. Those who knew him best were warmed by his lazy, caressing smile and drawling wit, by the merry sparkle in those striking dark eyes.

“Lord Melbourne is looking especially well,” a feminine admirer, the Princess Lieven, cooed to the lady beside her. “Has he a new chéri d'amour? I hope he has not resumed his affair with that Norton creature.” Emily, Lady Palmerston, shuddered at the thought and offered her fervent prayers it was not so.

“And yet…I think you may be right. William never looks so pleased with himself as when he’s in the throes of a new love affair,” she offered.

“I vow, he appears to age in reverse. A girl of twenty would be all a-flutter over your brother. It is so unfair that gentlemen do not age as –“ But Emily was no longer attending. Princess Lieven’s words had sent a not entirely pleasant jolt though her. _No,_ she thought _, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be so foolish!_ But of course, she knew he could. She only prayed it wasn’t so, that germ of an idea fomenting in her mind.

William Cavendish, the 6th Duke of Devonshire, drove his sister in a curricle. He hailed Melbourne and pulled up beside him. They conversed briefly, exchanging their impressions of the sad, scandalous circumstances of Brummell’s recent passing. When they had passed out of earshot Cavendish remarked on Melbourne’s demeanor.

“William Lamb is still a devastatingly handsome man,” the Countess of Carlisle commented to her brother, turning in her seat to watch as Melbourne’s figure receded.

“He has the appearance of a man relieved of some heavy burden. I haven’t seen him so light of mood in months, since before the Royal marriage,” the brother replied after considering the matter.

“Perhaps it lends credence to the talk that he was growing weary of having to dance constant attendance on Her little Majesty,” the sister speculated. “She is not the type of female he finds it easy to please. Or be pleased by. Melbourne has always preferred sophisticated women of wit and accomplishment. Married women with complacent husbands. Women like the late Lady Melbourne. Now _she_ was a character to admire. I believe Byron preferred her above all others, even –“

“Yes,” Lord Cavendish sighed. “Even Caro Lamb. No two women were further apart in every way than his wife and his mother. And yet the same two men loved them both,” he said, referring to Melbourne himself and Lord Byron, the acclaimed poet. Had he been fonder of the elder Lady Lamb, Cavendish might have said _three_ for he’d never forgotten his intention to marry Caroline Ponsonby until she chose Melbourne instead. “Georgiana, that brings me in mind of – oh, never mind,” he demurred, knowing well Lady Carlisle’s penchant for gossip on her rare visits to London.

“What? You can’t stop now. Tell me.”

“Just…seeing him with the Queen puts me in mind of seeing him with Caro in their early days. When he would spend hours teaching her Greek and all manner of things. She would complain of it later – Caro was ever a giddy creature, you know – but at the time it was part of their love play. Some men prefer one kind of woman for their affairs and entirely another when they give their heart.” He became aware their vehicle was blocking the flow of traffic and lightly flicked his whip over the horse’s ear. Soon they were engaged in hailing other acquaintances and quite forgot the subject of their prior conversation.

At the end of his ride, Lord Melbourne dismounted and tossed his reins to a waiting pair of hands. It was really a fine day, he thought, too fine to remain indoors. He hoped that he would cajole her into walking in the gardens with him. If they could do nothing else, they could at least stroll unchaperoned over the verdant lawns. Resolving to conclude their business as soon as practical, Melbourne ran lightly up the stairs. He was gratefully aware of the essential lightness of spirit reflected in his body, giving him the energy and verve of a much younger man. Knowing his own penchant for introspective melancholy, it had taken him some time to identify this new state as happiness. Knowing himself to be the object of gossip and speculation, for it had been so most of his life, Melbourne was amused when he thought what wagers might be paid off by those who only a short time before were predicting his decline.

The Queen had obviously been waiting for him. She was standing beside her desk, looking very pretty in a pale green frock scattered with pink-embroidered flowers and trimmed in foamy lace. Melbourne took just a moment to enjoy the picture she made before approaching. From old custom he dipped to one knee and kissed her outstretched hand. Then, seeing her lovely countenance watching him expectantly, Melbourne rose and took her in his arms. Her soft mouth opened for his and he inhaled her sweet breath, deepening what began as a chaste kiss into something far more. He thrilled when she daringly slipped the tip of her tongue into his mouth, flicking, teasing. _Apt pupil_ , the thought stirred him, recalling what else he had taught her during their one night together. When he finally drew back it was only to rest his forehead on hers.

“So it wasn’t a dream,” he murmured, sounding foolishly love-struck even to his own ears. Victoria raised her hand and gently traced the outline of his cheekbones, looking at him with such adoring wonder he thought he could not bear it. She looked at him as though she were the only one in the world to truly see him, see all the way to his core, and worshipped what she saw, and Melbourne was both bemused and immeasurably grateful.

“Mine?” Victoria whispered. “All mine?” Her fingertip stroked his lips. “Business, ma’am,” is what he said in response.

“I don’t want to talk _business_ , Lord M. I want…” Victoria’s eyes fluttered down and a pleasing pink suffused her cheeks. “oh, you _know_ what I want. I want to be with you. Don’t you feel the same?”

Melbourne permitted himself a small smile. “You know I do, ma’am.”

She turned away, frustrated, and went to open the first of the red boxes with her key. Melbounrne moved closer, so that he stood directly behind her, and stroked the soft hairs escaping her chignon at the back of her neck. “Soon, ma’am. Things will work out.”

“George has finished your new apartment,” Victoria said brightly, remembering. “You will examine it later? Albert thinks it will be - - most convenient for you. For us.”

Victoria had signed all unobjectionable documents earlier with Albert’s assistance, and so all that remained was to discuss pending items on the legislative agenda and foreign office concerns.

Melbourne brought up the subject of the French Ambassador. Monsieur Guizot had visited with Melbourne to argue France’s case in resisting Palmerston’s attempts to coerce them into a multilateral treaty. Victoria listened carefully to his description of the French Ambassador, to his description of Palmerston’s hotheadedness as well as the strengths of his argument, then provided equally compelling commentary on the two ministers most opposed, Lords Holland and Clarendon. Melbourne stressed the need to avoid schism in his own government, to which

Victoria wholeheartedly agreed. He wasn’t sure how long, or even for what purpose, his government could hold on but knew that without an alternative means of ensuring access to Victoria, hang on he would.

Victoria moved to sit on one end of the long sofa. Melbourne paced back and forth as he talked, gesticulating, his voice animated, now rising, now lowering to convey seriousness. As he talked, he could not but be aware how closely fixed Victoria’s attention was, her blue eyes locked on his countenance, her body half-turned toward him.

“You seem quite captivated by M’sier Guizot, ma’am,” he teased.

“I am quite captivated by you, Lord Melbourne,” she returned, looking up from under long lashes flirtatiously.

“I believe we’ve quite covered all relevant matters for today. What would Your Majesty like to do? It’s a fine day for a walk. Or do you prefer to ride?”

 Victoria pretended to consider the matter. “If we ride, how far can we go?”

“Do you have a destination in mind?”

“To Brocket Hall,” she said promptly and of course Melbourne knew instantly what she meant. _Brocket Hall_. Nearly two weeks had passed since that glorious night Albert had so tactfully made possible.

Victoria took his hand in both of hers and kissed the backs of his knuckles, then turned it over and pressed her lips in his palm. He saw her shy gaze flicker repeatedly to him and he imagined he could feel the warmth of her gaze, until his response was too self-evident to be ignored. Then the shadow of a small smile played across her mouth. They remained like that, Melbourne’s arousal rising painfully, Victoria’s breath coming more quickly, their eyes locked on one another until he broke the gaze and stroked her cheek.

“Come, ma’am, it really is a fine day. Let’s walk in the gardens. Perhaps later George and Albert can show us the apartment he’s arranged for me. It is…near yours, I believe.”

Victoria still held his hand; he turned his over to grip hers and pulled her to her feet. Immediately she pressed herself against him and he groaned involuntarily.

Melbourne understood that she remained so innocent of men she thought she was the only one consumed by frustrated longing. Little did she know, he thought ruefully, the condition in which he returned home every night; she had no understanding of the state he was in, perpetually aroused, scrotum aching, half-crazed with the need for release yet unwilling to seek respite elsewhere as he would have done readily at any earlier point in his life.

No matter how badly Melbourne wanted Victoria and she him, he could not, would not, contemplate some undignified coupling within earshot of her husband and his effete gentlemen companions as would have happened when Albert offered a room in his own distant apartments for their use. Nor was Victoria a housemaid to be taken standing up in some closet, no lewd young Duchess willing to lift her skirts in a darkened corridor. She was his darling, precious girl, she was his _Victoria._


	12. Chapter 12

Melbourne and Victoria strolled through the gardens together, close enough on the path that their arms touched. The Queen was quite without attendants – she found the new freedom of her status as a married woman quite liberating, especially in regard to dispensing with the chaperons required by an unmarried girl – but they were both well aware they were in view of anyone who might chance to look out the window.

The air was quite warm for early April and the rays of the sun angled sharply near day’s end, lending the landscape a surreal vibrancy. As soon as their path turned beyond a cluster of freshly budded limes and veered toward the ornamental canal Lord Melbourne’s hand found Victoria’s and clasped it loosely.

As they meandered along the path they chatted in desultory fashion, Melbourne entertaining Victoria with humorous society on dits, nothing too scandalous but shocking to a sheltered young woman all the same. She held her hand over her mouth, giggling and gasping, asking Melbourne questions which merely confirmed his darling’s naiveté.

Conversation turned to the young ladies to be presented at the Queen’s levée and the many coming out balls which would follow. As a sophisticated, extremely eligible widower William Lamb was a highly sought prize on the marriage mart, and ambitious society hostesses, some his own former lovers, clamored for the signal honor of his presence at their balls.

That spring tradition in which young ladies from aristocratic families were presented to the Queen was a highly scripted ceremony Victoria particularly dreaded. She was grateful that the Lord Chamberlain and her senior ladies would handle the detail but it still left her to find a few stilted words to say to each of an endless stream of young women, all more beautiful, accomplished and poised than the Queen, or so she thought. Even with Lord Melbourne in his place at her side Victoria struggled with her natural shyness to find something of interest to say. Melbourne had advised her that in such instances saying something, no matter how commonplace, was preferable to allowing an awkward silence to develop.

“Lady Cowper watches with interest each year’s new crop of hopeful beauties. She has asked me, by the way, to procure her a card for your levée. She will attend despite the crush in hopes of seeing the eligibles firsthand,” Melbourne said casually.

“Your sister? Who does she hope to marry off?” Victoria thought of her wonderful Lord M’s nephews. She had met Will on those recent occasions when Melbourne had absented himself from her daily audiences, and thought him a pleasant enough young man but with none of his uncle’s captivating charm of manner and not nearly as handsome.

“She has two sons and two brothers,” Melbourne chuckled. “She has her work cut out for her.”

“Brothers?” Victoria’s voice sharpened and her attention swiftly focused itself on what had been merely idle conversation.

“She’s wanted Fred to take a wife these many years and fears he will marry some foreign girl. And now that she’s despaired of marrying me off to our friend Miss Eden she thinks to find a fresh, unspoiled girl to tempt me, before I fall prey to someone unsuitable. There have long been those who supposed I was angling to marry you to my nephew.” Melbourne’s laughing voice had the carelessly confiding tone of a hundred such conversations he’d had with the Queen. He was startled when Victoria jerked her hand sharply out of his and turned her face away, quickening her pace.

“Ma’am…wait…” Melbourne threw up his hands in frustrated confusion as the small figure stomped away. When belated realization dawned he swore quietly under his breath and hurried to catch up.

“Ma’am – Victoria,” he said, taking hold of her arm.

When she turned around Victoria’s blue eyes blazed with imperious anger.

“You marry? Marry? Indeed, then I will make sure your sister has a card for all the presentations. We would not wish her to miss any suitable prospects. Will you ask the Lord Chamberlain’s clerk draw up a list of the candidates so you and she can vet them beforehand? As long as you make so free with your influence at Court, why not?”

Melbourne had been trying most earnestly to maintain a sober expression but he was undone by the sight of her, arms waving, bosom heaving, color heightened. The anger not of a kitten, he reflected, but of a tiger cub, cute but potentially dangerous. He made the mistake of huffing a small laugh. Victoria’s eyes flew open even wider and her features froze into an unpleasant mask of offended majesty.

“How dare you laugh at me? Oh! You are a horrible, hateful man and I wish I had never laid eyes on –“

Melbourne took hold of her upper arm once more.

“I spoke carelessly, ma’am, from the habit of easy friendship and not…what we’ve become.” His voice was soft and especially gentle, the voice he used just for soothing Victoria's tempers. “There, is that better? I did not say I wished to marry, only that it has long been a scheme of my sister’s. I thought to amuse you.”

“I don’t want you to marry,” Victoria said coldly. “I told you that previously. As long as you serve me you will not marry.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp. Lord Melbourne knew that Victoria could change with breathtaking rapidity from a sweet, tender girl to an autocratic monarch. While he never doubted her sense of her own power and position he also suspected it was a protective shield, hiding the delicate heart she’d given into his keeping. If a momentary impatience darkened his eyes, it immediately faded to be replaced by tender affection.

“I have long since made it clear to my sister that I have no intention of marrying and I can assure you – and Emily – my happiness does not exist without you. Now smile for me. It’s too pretty a day to squabble.” He lifted her chin and kissed her softly, delicately tasting her mouth with his.

“You presume, Lord Melbourne,” Victoria said, her voice still cold and sullen, but she did not refuse his kiss.

“Never…” Melbourne answered playfully, and now his tone was caressing. He was rewarded by the merest suggestion of softening in her face.

“Tell her. About us. She is your sister. If you tell someone it makes it more real.” Victoria began walking again and he followed, considering her words.

“Eventually, I’m sure she will know. That I don’t do so at once is for your protection, ma’am. I trust her of course, but so much depends on discretion we dare not take unnecessary risks.”

“Is it truly for me, or because you think this isn’t real, that it will pass or end or--?” Victoria sounded absurdly young, almost childish, and he heard the whining note underneath her failing attempt to remain dignified and remote.

Melbourne almost felt annoyed, but she only voiced his own doubts. How will this end? She is young and volatile. I am neither. She is too inexperienced to know her own mind and I am far too experienced not to know mine. She is married and above all else, she is the Queen. And yet – and he sighed, aware that he might be rushing headline into his own damnation and powerless to stop, captivated by her, utterly besotted, more deeply in love than he'd ever thought himself capable.

“I know that I love you and want to make you happy, Victoria. For as long as you want me, I am here.” They walked along the path beside the waterway in silence for a time, and gradually the set of her shoulders relaxed. When Melbourne felt her small fingers twine through his he knew the storm had passed.

Unbidden, uncomfortably accurate observations came to mind, voiced by a woman who knew him well. “You fall in love with our faults, not our virtues, William. You are drawn to volatility, impetuousness, a fiery nature and strong will, and then when those become burdensome you withdraw.” Never, he thought, in Victoria’s case. Her essential honesty, sense of duty, that innate dignity would serve to counter the fiery temper which lay just under the surface, and love would turn her heat into passion. In Victoria something pure and bright shone so brightly that it almost made an old cynic believe she was indeed God’s own anointed.

A pair of swans and their cygnets were at the edge of the lagoon and Victoria stopped, spellbound, and delighted. “Oh, I wish we had some food to offer them,” she whispered. Unwilling to disturb the family by walking past, she backed up until she stood flush against him. Melbourne put his hands on her waist, holding her like the most fragile of vessels, and leaned over so that his lips rested near her ear.

“Victoria,” he murmured reverently. Melbourne felt her grow still and he wondered whether he had overstepped. Then Victoria spun around and clasped her own arms around him, tilting her head up. Her eyes were wide and searching.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know I have a dreadful temper and it is always at its worst when I am hurt. It is so much easier to be very very angry than to feel injured. Please forgive me, Lord M. I love you, I adore you, so much it scares me.”

Melbourne had been neither angry nor offended. In truth, the Queen’s outrage at the mere mention of his marrying had, when it first surfaced mere months into their friendship, been as flattering as it was surprising. And now, of course, everything had changed and he’d been an insensitive fool to ramble on without thinking how she would take his words. A sense of puzzled wonder surged through him, holding this beautiful young creature in his arms, knowing that she had given herself to him, her love, her maidenhead.

Victoria’s lips were open and waiting, inviting his kiss, and he complied willingly. Because they stood out in the open and her husband’s forbearance could only serve them so far, Melbourne reluctantly released her so they could return to the palace.

They dined privately, at a table set in the smallest of the Queen’s private dining rooms, Prince Albert and Queen Victoria, Lord Melbourne and George Von Wettin. Only a few courses had been ordered, and those light. When the covers had been cleared Albert invited George to show off the new quarters he’d designed for Prime Minister Melbourne. Von Wettin was a young architect, trained on the Continent and newly on the staff of Charles Barry, Chief Architect of the new Houses of Parliament. He and Albert had been lovers since university and his presence as the Consort’s favored companion did not negate either his ambition or his desire to make his mark in his profession. Despite long hours spent poring over drawings of the new Parliament, Von Wettin had found time to arrange the new apartment as Albert had specified.

“Your Majesty, with your permission…may we go to your dressing room?” The party rose and followed George into the Queen’s private chambers. A large pier-glass framed in ornately carved wood along the rear wall seemed to be his destination.

“The apartment Albert selected appears to be at some distance from Your Majesty’s own,” Von Wettin said. “Yours is on the main corridor in the private, or family, wing, and the second apartment – Lord Melbourne’s, if he approves – is normally reached by traversing the top of the Grand Stairway, walking the opposite direction, and then making two right turns to access the first of the guest wings. Do you follow?”

Victoria looked at him blankly, but Melbourne lifted an eyebrow and nodded. “So the two apartments are essentially back-to-back?”

“Almost. There is a servant’s passage, but as Her Majesty’s suite is the last on this side, no traffic save that of your own personal servants has reason to come past the last bend. It is enough to provide a buffer and make it impossible for anyone not studying a detailed blueprint to detect a slight reduction in the length of the passageway. And that could be easily explained by an error in the original measurements.”

The young man demonstrated how to locate a specific carving on the framework of the mirror, and it swung open, perfectly counterbalanced, to reveal a small vestibule. Beyond that, the paneled wall appeared solid until he applied pressure to another concealed lever.

The apartment beyond looked and smelled fresh and new. They stepped into a dressing room that was a near counterpart of Victoria’s own without the gilt, tastefully arranged, the walls covered in the deep green baize of a gentlemen’s club and accented with antique oak trim and crown moulding. The bedchamber beyond held a large canopied bed, bureaus and reading chairs set before the fireplace, and beyond that a sitting room lined on two sides with floor to ceiling bookshelves.

“I managed the design renovations but Albert – “ the slight blond fellow looked up at his patron with an affectionate smile, which Albert returned somewhat more heatedly, “designed the interior.”

“We used all repurposed materials, you understand, so that the feel, the ambience would be of a long-established suite. Of course, anything you wish changed – any art you’d like brought in – you need only ask.” Prince Albert performed one of his near-caricatured heel-clicking bows and gestured extravagantly.

Lord Melbourne nodded, unsure what his reaction should be. This young man, the pride of the Coburgs, now unabashedly, flamboyantly effeminate in every gesture, still perplexed him. And he had little enough reason to trust husbands, no matter how apparently generous with their wives’ favors they might be. Above all, he was vaguely offended on Victoria’s behalf, even though he was the clear beneficiary of such an arrangement. “Very pleasant, Your Highness,” was the best response he could offer.

Albert’s kohl-lined dark eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter, as though he knew and relished Melbourne’s discomfort.

“Very well. Victoria, Lord Melbourne, if you will excuse us? George spends so many hours with his ‘Mr. Barry’ I must take advantage of every possible opportunity.” The Prince strolled toward the outer door where his companion was already waiting.

“Oh - before I forget – I hope to see you at breakfast tomorrow, Lord Melbourne. I do wish to discuss the matter of my allowance from your Parliament.”

“Albert!” Victoria gasped, her outrage seemingly disproportionate to the occasion. Melbourne had long since wearied of the topic of the Prince’s marriage settlement, and vowed to turn the complaint over to someone else. Perhaps Peel would take it up with the Commons first.

Personally, Melbourne had little or no interest.

When they were alone Victoria walked about the room, seemingly intent on admiring the new, unfilled bookshelves, running her hand along the back of the Cordoba leather sofa in the sitting room, stroking the pile fabric of velvet draperies.

“Your husband is attentive to detail, I see,” Melbourne said wryly, examining the bottles lining a beverage cart. Brandy, Madeira, cognac.

“I’m sorry Albert said that, Lord M. I told him not to.” Victoria had stopped her exploration and stood hesitantly – shy, it appeared – on the far side of the room.

“Do not concern yourself, Victoria. Albert and I must deal with each other directly. You need not be in the middle.”

“You don’t have to, Lord M. I know Albert can be excessively interfering. I think he needs to reassure himself that nothing will disrupt his new life, by ensuring I am diverted.” Melbourne was somewhat surprised at her artful speech, and looked at her closely.

“Would you like to know what I think on the matter, ma’am?”

“Please don’t call me that when we are alone, Lord M,” she implored.

“William. Try using my name, Victoria, and I will do likewise.” Melbourne’s raspy voice lowered intimately as he slowly approached her. “I think this is damned awkward for both of us. I fear presuming too far, and I think perhaps you are unsure as well. The Queen must lead in all things, only perhaps…not here, not now, not in this.”

He had reached her and stood so closely he could have readily drawn her into an embrace. Instead he looked into her eyes, so she could read the depth of feeling in his own.

“I love you, Victoria. There are few rules for a situation like ours. Elizabeth and Dudley are not here to guide us. We did not marry because I turned you away and so you made a marriage of convenience. With the full knowledge and participation of that very helpful young man who had his own reasons for doing so.”

Then he did put his arms around her. With great deliberation and almost agonizing slowness he tilted her head to meet his mouth at the perfect angle.

“But in spite of all that we found our way back to each other. Do you love me?” Melbourne whispered the words as his lips hovered above hers. Victoria nodded solemnly. “And I love and worship you with all my heart. Can we trust that and learn to trust each other, do you think?"

"You must teach me, Lord M - William," Victoria whispered in return.

"And you must teach me, Victoria." Her expression of doubt made him show a small crooked smile. "I have had many companions and even a wife, 'tis true, but I was young when I wed and selfish. For you, I want to be everything you need. And for that...I need you to teach me."

He kissed her then, and it lasted so long neither felt they could stand alone when he finally lifted his head. Victoria clung to him as if she were drowning.

“Shall we?” He smiled, just a little, and took her hand to lead her into the bedchamber. Standing beside the bed, Melbourne stepped back.

“Shall I call for my valet and your maid?” he asked, a smile playing about his lips.

“No!” Victoria blurted. “I mean…I don’t want anyone to come in…” Then Melbourne’s smile widened a bit more.

“Then undress me,” he commanded brusquely. Victoria’s eyes showed her surprise but it seemed to relieve her uncertainty as well, his tone of authority, Melbourne noticed.

Her small hands fumbled inexpertly with his cravat, loosening the complicated knot. She slipped off his coat with some difficulty, for it fit closely, molded to his shoulders. Her eyes kept flickering up, uncertain, gauging his reaction, while he just watched and waited patiently, encouraging her. After she’d loosened his cuffs and opened the top buttons on his white shirt, Melbourne stayed her hand and deftly undid the back of her dress so it fell from her and pooled around her feet.

When Victoria stood before him wearing only her chemise Melbourne kicked off his shoes and steered her backward so she sat on the side of the bed. He leaned forward to remove the pins securing the chignon at the back of her head and as he did so, he felt her shaking hands at his waistband. Melbourne fought to focus on the task he had set himself, loosening her dark hair to spill over her shoulders and down her back. The nearness of her, a tickling sensation as the backs of her fingers rubbed against his skin, had already caused him to respond powerfully, making her task more difficult.

“I can’t,” Victoria groaned, frustrated at her failure to work the buttons on his trousers, stroking his length through the fabric instead. Smirking just a little, Melbourne began the job for her, then dropped his hands and allowed her to continue. When she freed him she took hold with both hands. Curious what she would do next, he gasped with the shock of sheer pleasure when he felt her lips on him, kissing.

“Do you like that?” She asked innocently. “Shall I do that again?” He feared he might lose control entirely if she did.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Another time…if you wish…we have waited too long for tonight…” and he lifted off her chemise, eased her back and reached for her, this girl-woman he loved more than life.

Afterward as she lay in his arms, both of them languid with the ease which followed lovemaking, as he idly stroked her back, Melbourne savored the perfect clarity of the moment. All externals fell away, all those myriad considerations and complications which would resolve in time. She was his and in Victoria his heart had found a home.


	13. Chapter 13

Melbourne had anticipated that for all the voluptuous pleasures of his nights with Victoria, he would soon chafe at the aftermath. Instead he not only acclimated to her desire to cling to him after their passion was spent, to fall asleep in his arms, but found himself increasingly reluctant to part from her. For a man of his years and experience, the idea of sharing a bed for purposes other than pleasure had never occurred until it was Victoria’s sweet exhalations against his shoulder, her firm young breasts pressing against him, her limbs tangling with his while they slept.

Melbourne had never been fond of early mornings – many days he had entertained visitors in his dressing room while he shaved at half-past noon – but with Victoria’s reputation to guard he must by necessity rise at dawn to go to his own apartment, or rouse her, adorably sleep-befuddled, and steer her back to her own chamber. Once he was up and about it seemed pointless to try to go back to sleep, especially since he suddenly found it difficult to get comfortably somnolent in a newly-empty bed. The net result was that early strollers taking a constitutional in Hyde Park were startled to see Lord Melbourne passing them by and Ministry clerks accustomed to doing without oversight or interference until the morning was long gone were shocked speechless by the Prime Minister strolling in before eight o’clock.

His nephew and private secretary had been bold enough to comment on the first few such mornings, speculating openly on which mystery lady accounted for the peculiarities he observed. It was not only the early hours Will noticed; he had told his mother and sister that William seemed different in the past weeks. When pressed on specifics by his very interested mother, Melbourne’s nephew could only say Uncle looked younger somehow, and distinctly pleased, with himself, with others, with the world in general. That was enough to spur a protective and loving sister to action.

Politically the spring of 1840 was shaping up to be, if not better, then less catastrophically bad as it had appeared in early March. Palmerston was still determined on his rash course, too headstrong to rein in and Melbourne was frustrated with his intemperance as much as his open defiance of his own Head of Party. The French Prime Minister, Thiers, was as abrasive and mercurial as Brougham, as headstrong as Palmerston, and a sore trial to Melbourne. His own party caused him more trouble than all the Tories combined, a thing which made him redouble his determination to persuade Victoria that party mattered little and personalities were paramount.

While nothing much disrupted his mood of cautious optimism, Melbourne began to see the vaguest outlines of a plan taking shape, wherein he could resign while ensuring both a peaceful transfer of power – assured of the Queen’s full support, Peel would happily take the reins once more – and he could step into the unopposed role of senior statesman and Minister without Portfolio. He had already broached the subject in the most general of terms with Wellington, who promised his support of Melbourne becoming a formal adviser to the Crown, as long as he resigned Party membership and undertook a policy of strict neutrality in political matters. All that would remain was to wait for an optimal time, and convince the Queen.

Will Cowper, lately become an intimate of Melbourne’s former mistress Caroline Norton, acted as that lady’s intermediary in delivering an invitation a plea that Melbourne visit her once more. He had scrupulously avoided personal contact since the trial, most particularly since he became the young girl-Queen’s closest adviser , until those dark weeks after the Royal wedding. He’d found his way back to the house on Green Street then, and it was as if nearly four years disappeared the moment he stepped in the door. Caroline was a bright, witty, amusing woman, with the sort of vivid personality that had always attracted him. She lavished him with a flattering degree of attention that was balm to his wounded heart. She wasn’t and couldn’t be Victoria, and when she unerringly intuited that he had given his heart into the keeping of the Royal girl she despised, Caroline had mocked him cruelly. Caroline was violently jealous of the girl who had displaced her in his affections, and he told her as much. When reason failed and she jumped to all the most unflattering conclusions about the girl he adored, Melbourne stopped answering her simplest questions about what went on at Court.

He wished afterward he had remained as steadfast in his determination to avoid other activities as he had those fruitless discussions, yet it had been so easy, effortless really, to accept what she offered. He’d remembered at least that much of their past liaison in a favorable light. Then, she had been an adventurous lover, eager to indulge his every inclination and make some interesting demands of her own. During those bleak weeks in February, their renewed intimacy had merely been a grim task, a way to dissipate physical tension that left him in equal parts spent and unsatisfied.

Still…he had simply dropped out of her life once more and her increasingly importunate pleas to speak to him could not go unanswered indefinitely. While he thought he would be safest taking someone with him to see her – Will perhaps – he did not want to risk her uncanny ability to read him at a glance and blurt unfortunate accusations.

Uncomfortably aware that Victoria would note and comment on his departure from Buckingham if he rode back into town, Melbourne decided to send Cowper in his place for their regular four o’clock audience. He used the excuse of pressing late business and scrawled a quite note.

Melbourne found he did not quite like the sense of accountability he now felt. It was no news that Victoria would quickly take offense if he failed to dine at the palace every evening and sit with her afterward, but where her expectations were flattering from a sovereign, they were less so from a…lover? Mistress? he wondered. What exactly were they? Certainly it was a reversal from previous centuries, when it was the King who kept a lover.

Melbourne dismissed the very faint sense of constraint as unworthy. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with her, but rather that he didn’t want to feel he must be at her command. Splitting hairs, he rebuked himself.

At precisely eight o'clock he took the familiar route to Caroline Norton’s house.

**

“William! You came!” Melbourne smiled at the striking dark-haired beauty who greeted him effusively. Caroline was in her late twenties, not that much older than Victoria, but had beneath a veneer of society polish, hard edges that Victoria did not. Her black eyes were bright, calculating, seductive, and when she drew him inside she managed to press her breasts against him and kiss the very corner of his mouth.

“You asked me to come,” Melbourne answered smoothly, “and I sent a note around that I would do.”

Caroline’s expression was sharp and interested and, he thought, not pleased. He determined to have their tête-à-tête quickly and courteously and depart without encountering anyone who might indulge in gossip that would reach the Queen. Melbourne knew that he owed Victoria some further explanation of a situation that she did not understand fully. She still accepted as incontrovertible fact that he had been innocent of the crim cons accusations because the trial had determined so, and had vociferously defended him even to her own mother.

His old spot on her long sofa was waiting, and she had poured a generous amount of the cognac he preferred. Her drawing room was unchanged, and as familiar to him as his own. More so, because they had spent so much more time here. It was not a particularly comfortable feeling and

Melbourne fervently wished he was elsewhere.

Pleasantries dispensed with, Caroline fixed her eyes on his for a long moment and then inhaled sharply.

“William! Say it isn’t so. Please say it isn’t so.” Her swooping vowels always suggested the stage

– she was a Sheridan, Melbourne thought.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” And I don’t want to. “I came because I wanted to make it clear that despite what happened on those few occasions in February I have no intention of causing you further distress by renewing our old friendship. I abhor the situation that previous relationship placed you in and I will not be party to further distancing you from your children.”

“Well done!” she said sarcastically. “Very well done.” She rose from the place beside him she had taken hopefully and paced back and forth.

“You are back at the Palace in service to the Queen. Her husband does not resent you?”

“His Royal Highness is gracious. In fact, it was he who reminded me of my duty when I neglected it for a time.”

“I want to meet her. You said when she was an unmarried girl you could not allow me to come to court. Well, now she is a married woman and I expect you to keep your promise and present me.”

“Caroline, be reasonable. The Queen’s reputation is spotless. She is surrounded by blameless females of the utmost respectability.”

“And yet you are her closest advisor and friend. How does that work exactly? We were accused together, and I am too scandalous to dare an introduction while you are with her day and night. Admit it, you have apartments at Buckingham as well as Windsor.”

“The Prime Minister has always had accommodations in the palaces, Caroline. You know that. The King expected me at hand when he had a thought to share.”

“The King,” Caroline spat the word. “The King didn’t find you nearly as captivating as the Queen does. Admit it, she punishes me because you first had those long engrossing conversations here, with me, before you had them with her. Now she wishes to punish me from jealousy.”

The idea was so preposterous Melbourne sputtered a laugh. That his Victoria would have any reason to be jealous was such a ridiculous concept, it confirmed his opinion this woman was capable of dangerous instability.

“Caroline, we can help you in other ways. Secure sponsorship for that bill of yours. Help you write law so it benefits future mothers in your situation. Perhaps find a way to influence George to –“

“Who the hell is we? You said ‘we’, William. To whom did you refer? Do you use the royal pronoun now, or are you so embedded with the Queen that you speak for her?”

Melbourne stood. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. I thought to tell you in person I will not return here. I wanted to offer to assist you in your desire to have access to your sons. I will leave now.”

Caroline Norton spun around to face him, fully enraged, so her complexion darkened. “I hoped to have your support, even to walk in on your arm, but I don’t need you. I have other friends at court.”

“What does that mean?”

“Harriet Sutherland has been a loyal and faithful friend. The morning our scandal broke she drove me through the park at her side to show the world I was not to be shunned. She is petitioning the Queen to receive me at her levée. And Harriet will make her appeal in such a way that it can’t be refused without the Queen losing face. If the Queen refuses me, she will realize the unfairness.

Harriet will tell her that we were guilty together and if she refuses me out of an excess of scruple she must dismiss you too.”

As angry as he was, Melbourne was reminded how quintessentially Caroline it was, to throw in a man’s face the very thing most likely to push him over the edge into ungovernable rage. That was her habit with Norton, the most complacent and greedy of husbands. She would needle him and taunt him when it was in her own best interest to keep silent, only to make him lose control. He saw her now, watching him eagerly, hungrily, craving the explosion sure to come, the promise of danger that stirred her libido like nothing else. He turned abruptly and strode out, leaving her standing in frustrated silence.

As he mounted his horse Melbourne felt his own aversion to confrontation nudge him toward South Street, but instead he pushed on for Buckingham House. He had intended to explain to Victoria the full extend of his past involvement with the woman, because he owed it to her in some way he couldn’t quite define and because, quixotically, he wanted her to know him fully and without reservation. But he most emphatically didn’t want her to hear it like this, from someone else, from one of her own attendants in pursuit of Mrs. Norton’s agenda.


	14. Chapter 14

The warm April air had caused the palace to become unbearably stuffy. Albert ordered the fires, lit automatically each morning and kept burning throughout the day regardless of weather, be put out and discovered it took him the better part of the day to ensure his orders reached the right department.

The French doors in the Queen’s drawing room had been thrown open and as many of her household and guests congregated on the long portico as were seated more conventionally inside.

Victoria herself was annoyed that Lord M had not returned as he should and generally restless, finding less than usual of interest in the stiffly proper conversations she must lead. When she’d done her duty in speaking a few syllables to each of the invited guests the Queen formed the intention of stepping out to enjoy the evening air. Unfortunately the simple act of rising caused conversation to cease and everyone present to leap to their feet. Albert had abandoned his usual evening plans to stay at Victoria’s side in Melbourne’s place and he waved with an impatient gesture for everyone to carry on.

“Ma’am, may I walk with you?” Victoria’s Mistress of the Robes, the lovely Harriet Sutherland, stepped to her side. Victoria nodded assent, looking over her shoulder once more to scan the room hopefully.

White urns along the balustrade had been planted for the warm season and lush red flowers cascaded down in bright waterfalls of color. The well-kept lawns stretched in every direction as far as one could see and made a pretty picture, Victoria noticed. As they strolled, Albert tucked her hand in his arm and gave the appearance of a doting young bridegroom.

“Le grande réception et levée, ma’am. I thank you for charging me with overseeing arrangements on your behalf. I believe that with the Lord Chamberlain’s help you will find it a suitably memorable affair. Those young ladies coming out this spring will long remember it with gratitude, as will their families.”

“I am sure you have done a fine job, Harriet. Your sense of style is impeccable.”

“We are using white, silver and violet, ma’am, to compliment the gown Your Majesty had made. The salon and ballroom will be filled with flowers, and if weather permits it will be as though outside and in are one and the same.”

“It sounds lovely, Harriet.” Victoria knew it would be grueling for her, forced to receive and converse with dozens of insipid young women on their best behavior and each of them privately considering her insipid and boring, criticizing her appearance, her wit, her demeanor. Victoria knew well how harshly the ton criticized everything about her. Her attendants, Harriet, Duchess of Sutherland, amongst them, ensured that every remark was repeated to the Queen, considering it their duty and their pleasure to do so. Only Emma Portman was more reserved, and took it upon herself to censure the most overly enthusiastic tale-bearing.

“The applications for presentation have been submitted to the Lord Chamberlain’s office, along with those matrons who will be presenting them. Most, of course, are young ladies commencing their first social season, but not all.” The Duchess paused in her discourse, smiling warmly and – Victoria thought – superficially at her, and then at Prince Albert. “I would like to present an especial friend of mine to Your Majesty. I did not apply to the Lord Chamberlain. I thought in light of my position as your Mistress of the Robes it was more appropriate to apply directly to you.”

Victoria’s mind was still on Melbourne’s absence – where could he be and what crisis of government was necessitating his absence? She hoped fervently, for his sake and hers and for the country’s – of course, for the country’s – that it was quickly resolved without undue effort on the part of the Prime Minister. War? Was Lord Palmerston pushing them into open confrontation again? Victoria hoped not. Such a thing would put great demands on Melbourne’s time…and of course war was a horrible thing in and of itself, she quickly added in her own mind.

“I’m sorry – you were saying? Of course, Harriet, feel free to bring any friend of yours you think I should meet,” Victoria said hurriedly, to make up for her inattention. She felt Albert’s hand tighten briefly on her arm.

“Who would that be, Duchess? How do you have a friend that has not already been received at Court?” Victoria saw Harriet’s annoyance. Albert did not particularly like women, and made his disinterest clear, while Harriet Sutherland was quite accustomed to the admiration of every gentleman she encountered. Albert was also becoming known for his stiff, unbending principles in matters of propriety and the importance he placed on protocol, to protect the Queen’s dignity. “Quite a prude, for such a young man” was the considered opinion of most English nobility.

“My friend is an accomplished poet and writer, Your Royal Highness. She has had several books published and is related to the best families.”

“And who is this friend?” Albert pressed. “I believe you have not yet said the name. My wife spoke from her warm affection for you. Of course we need to vet anyone the Queen receives.”

The Duchess of Sutherland pressed her lips together, openly irritated now.

“The Honorable Mrs. Caroline Norton, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness. Lord Melbourne did not think it proper to introduce her at Court while you were an unmarried girl, because of the unfairness of some who considered her unsuitable despite her innocence.”

The Queen’s attention now was squarely on the other woman. An observer would have seen only the Queen’s habitually clear, limpid gaze and the mildness of her expression, perhaps even remarked on the guileless innocence of a young woman recently emerged from the most sheltered of lives. Victoria, of course, had her strong will shaped and honed by the most rigorous of upbringings in an isolated and emotionally hostile environment. She had learned to protect her inner self from the prying and manipulation of a overbearing, ambitious mother and that blackguard Conroy and so perfected the expression of blank innocence the Duchess beheld.

“Please explain, Duchess. To what does my husband refer?” Victoria’s sweet clear voice, so admired by even those ministers most inclined to judge her harshly, delivered the question with no undertones save a desire for elucidation.

Harriet Sutherland briefly recounted once more the tale of Lord Melbourne’s trial for criminal conversation. She had eagerly shared the story very early in her young mistress’s reign, vying with the other newly appointed attendants for the role of social mentor in chief to a young woman unaccustomed to society.

“And of course, Lord Melbourne remained Prime Minister – your uncle King William flatly refused his offer to resign – and is Your Majesty’s closest adviser. Yet his partner in this unfortunate scandal, his very dear friend Caroline Norton, is no longer welcome in the best homes and has not yet met Your Majesty. She has implored Lord Melbourne to present her to you.”

“And yet he has been unwilling to do so?” Albert asked. If the sharpness in his tone was due in part to the glottal consonants which sounded harsh to English ears, there was something decidedly unfriendly in the face he showed her

“I am sure Lord Melbourne acts only out of an abundance of consideration for Her Majesty,” she said defensively.

“And you do not.” It was a simple statement and required no response, yet Harriet flailed about, trying to recover her thoughts and the speech she and Caroline had prepared.

“It is hardly fair, Your Highness, that one party in that affair is welcomed and even favored by Her Majesty while the other is shunned. Poor Caroline sits alone, pining for her lost children, while Lord Melbourne is graced by Her Majesty’s presence and friendship.”

Victoria had said nothing, following the interaction between the man on her left and the woman on her right. She stopped walking when they came to an unoccupied niche.

“Your compassion for your friend is to your credit, Duchess,” Victoria said mildly.

“Indeed,” Albert agreed curtly. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Her Majesty trusts my judgment on matters such as this and I regret to inform you that your friend Mrs. Norton will not be invited to Court. I hope to establish a higher moral tone for Court than has been set in the past. In a few years, if the lady in question reconciles with her husband and reforms her life – oh yes, I am quite aware that she holds salons frequented by radicals and revolutionaries, as well as writers of quite shocking books and plays, and freely criticizes the Queen – we might reconsider the matter. But for now, my decision is final and neither the Queen nor Lord Melbourne, nor yourself –“ he offered a small ironic bow to the Duchess, “ – will change my mind. I believe the sanctity of marriage is paramount and in this situation it was your friend and not – any gentlemen she may have conspired with – who broke her marriage vows.”

The Duchess of Sutherland had gone pale, her lips nearly white from the effort of remaining silent.

“Very well, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect to the Queen or the Court and certainly I meant no affront to your own very high moral principles.” Was there sarcasm in there? Victoria wondered.

“You may retire for the evening, Duchess. You have been devoting much effort to the arrangement of our spring events. Perhaps you would enjoy a few days duty-free to recover yourself.” Albert spoke quite cordially, but it was clearly a dismissal from Court, temporary at best. Harriet Sutherland knew her husband would not be pleased if she lost her position as the highest-ranking attendant to the Queen. She withheld further comment, merely sweeping the deepest of curtsies before taking leave.

Victoria and her husband stood together and watched the tall, elegant figure of the most beautiful woman at Court depart. Then they looked at each other and exchanged conspiratorial grins.

To Lord Melbourne, standing in the doorway only long enough to search for Victoria, they looked like the two teenagers they had so recently been, and up to no good, if he remembered similar exchanges with his own sister at that age. At least, he thought, Victoria did not look as though she were in the depths of despair, despite the suggestion of Harriet Sutherland’s very deliberate departure.

“Ma’am,” Melbourne bowed over Victoria’s hand there on the portico, then turned slightly to greet her consort. “Your Highness.”

“Lord Melbourne, I hope you have come to stay and enjoy this beautiful evening. Spring in England is the best time of year.” The Prince’s angular, naturally solemn face was wreathed in smiles and he showed Melbourne that impish expression which hinted at amusing shared secrets.

Despite his misgivings the boy was gradually growing on Lord Melbourne. He could never feel entirely at ease with him, but he conceded Albert did his best to make himself agreeable.

“It is indeed a fine time of year,” Melbourne agreed smoothly.

“I have been taking your place tonight, Lord Melbourne. At my wife’s side. I hope this doesn’t become a frequent occurrence.” Albert was still smiling, still holding Victoria’s hand in his arm. “And now that I have done my duty, I will say good night. It is far too warm an evening to spend alone. The night calls me.” The young Coburg prince kissed his wife’s hand fondly and gave it to Lord Melbourne in a gesture with unmistakable meaning.

“Ma’am, I apologize for my delay in attending you. I had business which needed my attention in town.” Melbourne looked closely at Victoria, searching for signs of distress.

“I agree with Albert, that I hope it doesn’t become a frequent occurrence. I miss you when you are not here, Lord M.” Her voice was warm, the expression in her eyes that dear, adoring one which never failed to melt Melbourne to the core.

“Is everything all right, ma’am? What have you been doing?”

Victoria shrugged, her mouth forming a little moue of distaste. “This and that. Arrangements for the presentations and ball are uppermost on everyone’s mind. Harriet Sutherland shocked and disappointed me tonight. I’m glad Albert was here. He took charge and set her straight. Then,” Victoria giggled, hand in front of her mouth, “he dismissed her. Suggested she take leave to recover herself from her duties.”

“Indeed? What did she do to shock you, ma’am?” Melbourne asked carefully. Her wonderful big blue eyes met his and he saw no trace of either anger or guile.

“She asked me to invite your former mistress to court. Can you imagine?”

Melbourne drew in his breath sharply, swallowing hard. “My mistress? She actually said that?”

“Not in so many words. She acts as though I’m stupid, Lord M, which I quite dislike. I may be young, and inexperienced in many things, but I’m neither ignorant nor stupid. My father and my uncles had their mistresses, why shouldn’t you? After all, I am your mistress now.”

Flabbergasted, Lord Melbourne simply stared. Was this the naïve child he had flown back to protect?

“No, ma’am, you are not my mistress. Not in any way which could be compared to – other situations where – in which I – no. I don’t like the way that sounds and you must not describe yourself that way.” He cleared his throat when it cracked. “You did me the greatest honor imaginable when you asked me to marry you, and I declined. You know why. But in every way that counts, I consider you my wife. I honor you, and I would never have – “ his habitually raspy voice dropped to a whisper “I love you, Victoria.” There were at least a dozen others on the long portico enjoying the night air, or he would have kissed her. Surely she invited it, that adoring face turned up to him, lips parted and ready?

“I love you, Lord M. You are not displeased that Albert declined to invite your former mistress to Court? Your Mrs. Norton?”

It was Melbourne’s turn to take her hand and tuck it in his arm. He did so and they strolled together along the balustrade.

“No I am not displeased. Why did Albert do so? I am curious.”

“I think out of kindness to me, and you too, of course. He does look out for me. But of course he made himself sound like such a prude. I’m sure Harriet will dine out on that for a week, mocking his German notions of propriety.” Victoria laughed again, remembering. “But Lord M –“ she halted and stared up into Melbourne’s face. “She is your former mistress, is she not? You are not still – you don’t see her anymore? You won’t go back to her?”

Surprised, Melbourne lifted a brow. “Need you ask? Truly? Then of course I will answer. She is my former mistress. There, I’ve said it. She was one of many, and there was nothing special, no love connection. It’s not especially comfortable or dignified discussing such things because you are so young and new and very precious to me. But since you seem to know already, please know this: I want no other woman but you. I suddenly understand the concept of fidelity in a way that made no sense when I was younger.”

“Only me, Lord M? Do you promise?” Victoria’s voice was suddenly husky, as sultry as the look she gave him, and yet behind it, he saw steel. It pleased him that she was not so easily shattered. He wanted her love for him to strengthen, not weaken, her. For Victoria, he wanted everything good and right.

“Only you, Victoria.” In the deepening darkness, as far from the palace as they could be while remaining on the terrace, Melbourne dared the briefest of kisses, the lightest of embraces, before releasing her. “I promise.”

Melbourne was relieved that Victoria had not been unduly shocked or dismayed by the revelation. Perhaps she was more pragmatic than he'd credited, he thought, determined nonetheless to cherish her all the more. If he did not clearly think through every word of the promise he made, it was only because his mind was occupied by the delectable girl standing so tantalizingly close.  _Queen Victoria_.


	15. Chapter 15

Melbourne reclined at ease on the Queen’s bed and watched the pretty picture Victoria made as she sat back on her haunches, trying to comb her long hair free of tangles. Of course she had been tended to her entire life and her attempts at self-care were endearingly inept. When she threw down her comb in frustration he gestured for her to sit in front of him and began the task.

Victoria was gloriously, beautifully naked and becoming more comfortable with herself, thanks to Melbourne’s constant reassurances. She had never seen herself naked and could scarcely open her eyes when he stood her in front of a full-length mirror and lovingly guided her exploration. His pats, strokes, caresses, his gentle voice describing the beauty he saw and the clear evidence of his desire gradually eased her insecurity.

Melbourne had never been particularly attracted to very young women. His mistresses were all witty, sophisticated, even jaded creatures whose cynicism matched his own as well as their sexual adventurousness did. Caro, of course, had been only nineteen, a hoyden, but she had grown up amidst the Devonshire House set so had been more worldly than Victoria. And although he had been a young man himself and could perhaps be excused any excesses, Melbourne knew that his own concerted efforts to disabuse Caro of any modesty and reticence she may have had, as well as her idealism and even her religious faith, had plunged her headlong into a life of instability and excess. Melbourne would not repeat those mistakes with Victoria, even though it meant tempering his own outré outlook.

Likewise, Melbourne would never introduce his precious Victoria to those more extreme practices which had so shocked Caroline as a young bride. Caro had taken to them all – the pupil soon overtaking her instructor – but what was merely amusement then, deflowering and awakening a young woman, felt like a sacred responsibility now. What Victoria would learn of pleasure from him would be as nature intended, a sacrament of their love.

Victoria sat obediently sat between his legs as Melbourne’s long fingers deftly picked out the offending hairpins and separated the strands of long brown hair. When he began gently running the brush from scalp to ends in long, careful strokes she purred with contentment. While he worked he murmured nonsense banter to amuse her, and savored the simple, perfect domesticity of the moment.

* * *

When Victoria came in search of him she had discovered Lord Melbourne stretched out on the sofa in his small sitting room, surrounded by documents and books recently abandoned. She had endured a long evening with her household and those guests honored with an invitation to dine at the Queen’s table, and without the presence of the only person who made those evenings bearable. Lord M had been a fixture for so long a chair was kept for him at the Queen’s side, and Victoria felt that empty chair taunting her with a freedom she would never have. She’d almost resigned herself to tolerating his occasional absences, more necessary since he now spent nearly every night with her, in his bed or hers, and still had all the business of Government demanding his attention.

Less palatable were the times he chose to spend his evening elsewhere, dining at the Hollands’, at his club, with other friends, although he assured her that as much or more business was conducted there than in the halls of the House.

Paradoxically, Victoria felt less and not more entitled to complain and demand his attendance since they became intimate. Lovers? She tried out the word, and did not like it. She was not sure how to label their relationship, deeply uncomfortable with any common term, anything which might dirty and cheapen it. They were not like those who did such things merely for sport, and the very idea offended her sensibility.

Victoria had absorbed all the strictures of her strict German governess, a pastor’s daughter, and believed and accepted the Church’s teachings. She could not reconcile talk of sin, of fallen women and disreputable men and their unsavory conduct with something that felt so right. In her heart of hearts Victoria believed that the Almighty would not have sent her the one person who completed her, who filled every empty place in her hungry heart, who taught her to exercise patience, to temper justice with mercy, and lead her country with both wisdom and grace, if it was wrong to be with him.

She stood in their secret doorway and adored him from afar, as she’d done so many times in the past three years. Except then never so intimately, never with the knowledge of how beautiful, how perfect he was underneath the loose white shirt and trousers he now wore, never with the memory of those elegant hands doing marvelous things to her. Victoria felt her face go warm at the thoughts she had, and was torn between going forward, kneeling beside him and stroking his wonderfully disheveled curls, and stepping back quietly so she did not disturb his rest.

She went back through the concealed doorway into her own dressing room and sent for her maid. Miss Skerrett arrived breathless, her usually neat appearance slightly ruffled, and removed the Queen’s jewels, laying them carefully in leather cases. She had just begun unhooking the back of Victoria’s dress when the mirror swung back, startling her so she yelped and jumped back.

Victoria started to laugh, then saw the girl had been genuinely shaken and stopped abruptly.

“Miss Skerrett, I am so sorry. My husband had some alterations done so he can come and go more conveniently.” Of course, it was not the Prince who stood in the doorway, a fact Victoria did not address.

“Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry, sir. Should I finish?” Victoria dismissed the young woman and Lord Melbourne pressed a gold coin into her hand, showing her his most charming smile.

“How was this evening’s drawing room?” Melbourne croaked, his voice still rough from sleep. He raked a hand through his hair.

“Over,” Victoria sighed. “Three interminable hours of asking after this one’s lady, that one’s horse, the other’s son and trying to keep them all straight. And when the response is ‘fine’, where do you go from there?”

Melbourne chuckled. “True. That is the difficulty in duty versus inclination. I’ve only ever enjoyed the company of one lady in your drawing rooms. That, after three years of enduring such vapidity I can scarcely stay awake.”

“You don’t stay awake,” Victoria pointed out, smirking. “You’ve fallen asleep more evenings than I can count. Who was the lady whose company you enjoyed?”

“Foolish girl,” he kissed her forehead. “This one. Is your maid returning or can I assist? Why didn’t you wake me when you came in? I thought you’d been there, but I wasn’t sure I hadn’t been dreaming.”

Victoria dimpled and looked down shyly. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You’re beautiful when you’re asleep. You’re beautiful always.”

“’Beautiful’? I don’t think I’ve ever been called beautiful before.” He made quick work of the long row of hooks on the back of her dress and slid it down over her shoulders. “This is beautiful.” He ran a finger appreciatively over her breasts where they threatened to spill out over the top of her stays. “And this.” Victoria slowly stood and let her dress fall, stepping daintily out of the pooled satin at her feet.

“And this.” He ran his hands down her sides, following the gentle curve of her hips. Victoria looked up at him, the tanned patch of skin where his shirt fell open, loose sleeves ending at strong wrists. She reached up and touched his face, with such a look of adoration Melbourne wanted to weep with gratitude. Instead he picked her up and carried her to the waiting bed.

* * *

“I think we must learn patience, and allow your Miss Skerrett to do her job properly,” he said, laying down the brush when he’d finished smoothing her hair. “I will never replace her as a lady’s maid.”

Victoria leaned her head back and stretched out her legs voluptuously. “You’re quite naked, you know,” Melbourne crooned.

“Mmmm….so are you. It feels wonderful.” She looked down at her own smooth skin, flat stomach, the patch of downy dark hair.

“Do you think I’m pretty enough, Lord M?”

Melbourne laughed. “I think I’ve answered that question adequately, but if you wait just a while longer I will answer again…no, wait, perhaps there is no need to wait…”

“I’m being serious. I know I’m no great beauty, and you’ve had other very beautiful women –“ Victoria’s voice was muffled by the hand he laid across her mouth.

“Shhh…there have been no others, none I recall. You are lovely, Victoria, beautiful. And very desirable.”

Victoria picked up Melbourne’s discarded shirt and pulled it over her head to serve as a night dress.

“Stay with me until morning, please? Talk to me.”

“What should we talk about?” Melbourne lifted his arm invitingly for her so she could nestle against him.

“Will you tell me about your family?”

“My family? Emily you know, of course. My brother Fred –“

“Your – your wife and child, Lord M. I know so little about your son. Do you mind very much telling me about him?”

Melbourne was mildly surprised, but not unwilling. He was touched, and found himself eager to share more of himself and his life with her.

“Caro had a difficult time bearing children and she did not recover quickly so I spent a great deal of time with Augustus when he was born. I surprised myself and everyone who knew me by the interest I took. I suppose I had never given much thought to what business a man had with babies, until I held my own.”

“Was he – was he different when he was born?” Victoria stumbled over the words, her voice small and very childlike. Melbourne tightened his arm around her shoulders to pull her close to him, emotionally as well as physically. He hoped by his nearness she could feel there was nowhere in his heart she was not welcome, no hidden corners he kept back from her.

“He was not. He was a beautiful baby and appeared normal in every way. It never occurred to us he wasn’t until my mother grew concerned he was not beginning to talk as he should. We didn’t want to accept it. I was convinced that if only he was taught properly in a way his mind could accept and process he would learn. Caro grasped at straws, daring every sort of quackery to cure him.

“By the time he was twenty Augustus was physically a grown man, with a grown man’s urges, yet the mind and sensibility of a child. A very strong-willed child, with no self control, no inhibition. Emily once saw a performance of Frankenstein and compared my boy to the monster.” Melbourne’s voice was hoarse and raspy as it habitually was, but there was no particular melancholy attached to his reminiscences. It had all been so long ago, another lifetime really, and with Victoria everything was new again.

“What did he do? How did he occupy himself all day?”

“When we let him he rambled about the estate, but soon the gamekeepers complained. In the house if Caro did not have him watched closely he would jump out to scare the maids and throw them down. I could always calm him but I could not always be around. Caro was full of schemes to help him, and since she became intimately acquainted with the physicians and tutors I hired, I was not always consulted.”

“After Caro died I took him back with me to Dublin and saw some improvement. My friend there found a tutor with the patience to work with him and a relief of the quackery and painful treatments seemed to quiet him down.”

“Your friend? What kind of friend?” Victoria asked pointedly. Melbourne resisted the urge to prevaricate, only to maintain the tenor of this peaceful moment.

“An intimate friend.” He spoke in a casually confiding manner, hoping to ease Victoria past the discomfort she might feel. “We are still in touch. She lives in Geneva now. If she ever comes to London, I would ask you to receive her. I would like you to meet. I’ve told her about you – not who you are, of course, but that I’ve fallen in love, well and truly in love. She wishes us happy.”

Victoria accepted that as a kind of reassurance, and wondered at the difference between this other woman and the threat she sensed from Caroline Norton.

“Is she beautiful?” Victoria asked instead. “Lady Branden?”

“Mrs. Norton.” Melbourne heard her voice tremble slightly. Keeping his voice very casual, he answered carefully.

“She is considered to be by some.”

“By you?” He considered the question.

“I suppose I thought she was, when I met her.”

“More beautiful than me?” Victoria asked in a whisper. Lord Melbourne turned her face up and kissed her deeply, cupping a breast in his hand. He looked deeply into her eyes, without reservation, wanting her to see his truth there. When he felt himself stir he smirked.

“Do you feel that? That doesn't lie. You are beautiful and desirable and I want only you." "Will you still love me if I grew fat and hideous?” Victoria asked, and now the trembling was

more pronounced. “If I was not able to lay with you? Would you wish you had another woman? Would you return to your Mrs. Norton then?”

Melbourne knew better than to laugh, but he was tempted just for a moment. Absurd child, he thought tenderly. Does she truly not know? She is my mainspring, my life force. Without her I would surely die. He drew her back against him and stroked her hair.

“I see no sign of you growing fat or hideous, but if you did, yes, I would still love you. No, I would not wish for anyone else, and no, that woman is not ‘my’ anything. Did I answer everything to your satisfaction?”

Victoria was quiet, soft and yielding in his arms. And suddenly a thought came to him, unbidden, glorious, wondrous. Could it be? He calculated swiftly and the reckoning was clear.

With exquisite gentleness, as though she were the most delicate of vessels, Melbourne curled himself around her, holding her in his arms until they slept.


	16. Chapter 16

Three maids lifted the ball gown over Victoria’s head and settled its layers into place. They oohed and ahhed in unison at the dress, yards and yards of shimmering violet silk embroidered with white and silver flowers sprinkled with tiny diamond chips, echoing diamond-encrusted silver netting trim. The skirt was not as fully hooped as fashion currently dictated. The Queen felt strongly that her lack of height was better complimented by a slimmer, more natural profile and had prevailed upon her exacting modiste to defy expectation and produce a garment which subtly hearkened back to the silhouettes of an earlier time. The result, all agreed, was a resounding success, adding the illusion of inches to her height just as the daringly low-cut bodice elongated her neck and showed her shoulders to advantage. Shoulders, Victoria recalled, which Lord M had once said were very fine, those shoulders still feeling the tingle of his soft kisses.

“Where is Lord M?” Victoria wondered plaintively, and blushed when she realized she’d spoken aloud. In addition to her dresser, the assistant dresser and a maid, her boudoir was occupied by her mother and Lady Portman. Mistress of the Robes Harriet Sutherland had not yet returned from the holiday Prince Albert had suggested, but Victoria had glimpsed her name on the list of those who would be in attendance at the ball. Her servants, of course, did not respond and the Duchess of Kent merely pursed her lips in the habitual expression of disapproval any mention of Melbourne’s name elicited.

“I’m sure he will be here, ma’am. He must be detained on business,” Lady Portman offered. “You don’t think he’s forgotten?” Victoria was reluctant to say more in front of her mother.

“It hardly matters whether your Prime Minister attends, Drina. Your husband will lead you in,” the Duchess said crisply, the implied censure plain. Victoria flushed.

“Thank you, Mama,” she replied.

“This ball is for the young ladies, to present them to society, is that not right? And for the young gentlemen to look for wives. Your Lord M is too old. No mother would marry a girl of eighteen to someone his age, no matter how prominent he might be now.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Victoria snapped, her color heightening as her temper rose.

“He did not forget, ma’am. He sent you flowers, and they match your gown perfectly. My Edward never notices such things, or remembers when he’s told.” Lady Portman picked up a white orchid, its center the same violet as her gown. Looking down at her skirt Victoria realized for the first time the embroidered flowers were orchids too. How did he know? She wondered at his perception and how he always seemed to know things without being told. That reflection led to another, that he did not yet know precisely everything. There was one thing, one astounding, frightening, momentous thing, she had yet to tell him.

Unfortunately, her mother did know, had alluded to the most personal, most intimate functioning of her body and the inevitable conclusion she’d drawn. Victoria could only speculate that her mother, or one of her mother’s insufferable attendants, bribed the servants. How else could she comment so coyly that Victoria’s monthly course had failed to arrive? One month. Two weeks past the first missed cycle. It could be anything, perhaps my body’s adjustment to no longer being a virgin. Yet Mama has to crow her silly little statements as though everyone is too stupid to understand what she hints.

Victoria understood of course that she might well be with child, but it was by no means certain. Even Lehzen, with whom she had discussed the matter in the most general of terms, had said she herself had sometimes been late or missed a month, and she an unmarried lady.

Victoria accepted as a matter of fact that she must produce an heir – it was that necessity which prompted the universal desire she marry so young. And if she had to have a baby, then the idea of having his baby, William’s, Lord M’s, was pleasing in the abstract. But she most emphatically did not want a baby yet, did not want to forgo those wonderful nighttime activities she had just discovered, did not want to grow fat and round as a dumpling, did not want swollen ankles and sore feet and a bloated face. And above all, she did not want to die, as poor cousin Charlotte did, Uncle Leopold’s Poor Charlotte, after howling in agony for days as her body was torn apart from the inside. And yet, if it were true…

She became aware that they were all watching her. As the Queen she must dictate everyone’s every action, nor could they speak without being addressed first. Of course, that didn’t apply to her mother – although Victoria often wished it would – and even Lady Portman would in private speak more as a friend and less like a courtier, but poor Miss Skerrett stood frozen in place holding the jewel cases, waiting for permission to proceed.

Victoria sat back down in the high chair they used to arrange her hair and allowed Miss Skerrett to fasten the flower in place, sliding a fine filigree tiara into the dark curls piled high on her head. She looked at herself from every angle and was satisfied.

“That color, ma’am, is most becoming, if I may say so.” Emma Portman scrutinized her mistress. “It makes your eyes look dark and mysterious, almost violet like your gown.”

“’Mysterious’,” Victoria smiled. “I like that, Emma. Thank you.”

The Duchess of Kent pushed herself in front of the Queen’s attendant with a proprietary little movement. “Do not drink too much champagne tonight, Drina. In fact, it is best you do not drink any. It is not good for someone…in your situation.”

“My situation, Mama? What would that be? Greeting nearly a hundred strangers queuing in a receiving line? Wearing orchids? Pray, explain.” She glared at her mother, daring her to speak. The Duchess merely smiled insufferably and inclined her head.

“We are all married women here, Drina. There is no need to be embarrassed.” And she committed the faux pas of stepping ahead of the Queen to leave.

Victoria opened her mouth as if to utter a retort, but closed it again and merely grimaced. “Shall we, Emma?”

They would meet Prince Albert and the other Ladies and Gentlemen of the Household in the large anteroom leading to the grand ballroom. When Lord Melbourne was present he habitually was paired with Lady Portman for purposes of precedent. Tonight, after looking for him once more, Victoria sighed and glanced at the older woman.

“I will ask Albert to have one of his companions escort you, since Lord M is still not here.”

Lady Portman did not miss the sharp edge in Victoria’s voice. “That will be fine, Your Majesty. William would be here if he could,” she added, before pausing. “Ma’am, are we to expect to congratulate you and His Highness soon?”

Victoria sensed a certain undercurrent beneath the superficially conventional phrase and looked up.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is too soon to be sure, no matter what my mother thinks.” “If I may ask, ma’am, have you always been…regular?”

Victoria hesitated, no longer surprised at the way everyone seemed to feel it proper to inquire into matters she had previously been taught no lady ever talks about. When it comes to a Queen, she thought, there is no such thing as privacy, or even delicacy.

“Yes, but still…”

“His Royal Highness will be pleased if it is as your mother suspects?” Lady Portman persisted. Victoria smiled, remembering just how eager Albert was to demonstrate he had ability and inclination so contrary to his true nature.

“Yes, Emma. Albert would be very pleased.”

The presentations went on seemingly for hours. Young ladies, from plain to ravishing, from timid mice to bold and brassy, each of them wearing white and accompanied by a worthy matron, mother, aunt, some grandmothers, stepped forward. Victoria heard each name in her ear, whispered by an aide to the Lord Chamberlain, along with some detail on family or other notable connection the Queen could parrot, and then it was over. The girl had been presented at Court, received by the Queen and could go out into society in her search for a suitable marriage partner.

Victoria stole sporadic glances toward the entrance when she could, although she was certain she would simply feel his presence when he arrived. If he arrived, she corrected herself. Albert, sitting beside her, leaned over periodically to murmur some biting observation which caused Victoria to dimple and even hide laughter behind her hand disguised as a cough. But Lord Melbourne still did not appear.

**

He had not forgotten the Queen’s spring ball. Melbourne was closeted with his key ministers and a handful of harried aides. Palmerston, his Foreign Secretary, was determined to force the issue of Mehemet Ali’s rebellion against his Turkish overlord.1 It increasingly seemed as though the Turkish Empire would break up. If that happened Russian influence would expand throughout the middle east and they would achieve their long ambition to hold a warm water port in the Mediterranean. France under Thiers was gambling on Egypt prevailing and was accordingly backing them in defiance of the treaty which harnessed Russian to Austria and Prussia. Melbourne did not like the prospect of England losing substantial influence in the East, nor did he fail to see that the British would lose face along with influence and weaken them accordingly.

Lord Holland, long one of Melbourne’s closest friends, was utterly opposed to any conflict with France and Clarendon agreed. Worse, they threatened to resign over it, warning that an unintended consequence of Palmerston’s aggressiveness would only strengthen Russia, willing to break up the government to block him.

Melbourne saw both sides of the issue clearly, considering that France supporting Egypt would put them in an untenable position of influence, to the detriment of Britain’s own power in the middle east. He thought it inevitable that Russian would get their warm water port, and Turkey, eventually. But overriding those considerations was the prospect of Holland and Clarendon resigning and taking down the government with them. He needed to hang on as long as he could, because if his government fell in the midst of turmoil it would overset his plan to gracefully step aside assured of the goodwill of all. It was the only hope of assuming a role at Court without incurring open hostility and cries of partiality addressed to the Queen.

Melbourne considered the French Prime Minister, Thiers, as volatile as Brougham and as pig- headed as Palmerston and he was playing brinkmanship as surely as Palmerston. When the Cabinet finally exploded he was faced with the task of calming everyone down and charting a moderate course. That his own brother-in-law should be one of the most determined to press for the hard line leading to war was no small matter, for Palmerston was as passionately persuasive as Melbourne was calm and reasoned in his responses. And, he admitted regretfully, when it came to swaying opinions, fiery rhetoric usually won the day, no matter how ill-considered. Whig senior statesmen had crowded into the chamber to add their voices to that of Russell in a demand war be avoided at all costs. And so Melbourne had spent the better part of the last two months embroiled in dissent, taking fire on all sides from those who should have ceded to him as Head of the party in power. It all came to a head on the day of the spring ball, and Melbourne exerted every ounce of tact and diplomacy he could muster to prevent mass resignations and keep the government standing.

He took Palmerston aside and cajoled him by agreeing that of course he sympathized with his position, but the moment demanded extreme caution. “Friends are generally more troublesome and hostile than adversaries,” he had once told Victoria, and now repeated to his Foreign Minister. To Russell he likewise sympathized, warning him that if he resigned he would only be handing Palmerston a blank cheque to set foreign policy.

Palmerston’s intransigence was most trying and Melbourne thought privately he was learning a hard lesson he would never forget, in needing to rein him in. But now was not the time.

When they finally adjourned for the night, on a promise that each party would cool off and think hard about the finality of any decision pressed on the country by stubbornness alone, Melbourne only momentarily considered his weariness, the aches and pains unnoticed in the heat of the moment, and the strong pull of retreating to the quiet of South Street.

Several of the others – Palmerston himself amongst them – had already made reference to wives expecting their attendance at the Palace and Melbourne accepted that likewise he could not avoid the inevitable. Standing for however many hours remained in an overheated ballroom amongst simpering girls and their overbearing mothers was the least appealing prospect he could imagine. Standing at Victoria’s side, and then perhaps having time with her afterwards, alone in the blessed quiet of her bedchamber, was the most appealing prospect he could imagine. So he called around his carriage.

**

Melbourne stopped at his own lodging to quickly shave and change into evening clothes, knowing he could not hope to slip into the palace unnoticed. By the time he strode into the ballroom it was midnight.

The dance floor filled as the orchestra started a waltz. Melbourne took a champagne flute from the tray a footman extended and drained the glass as he scanned the room. He saw Emma Portman standing near a pillar and began maneuvering through the other onlookers lining the wall, intending to exchange a few words with her and avoid the effort of greeting all those who hailed him determined to introduce a daughter or niece to the Prime Minister.

“You were missed,” Lady Portman said without looking at him. They were friends of longstanding and Melbourne liked her greatly. She reserved for him a warmth she showed few others, even if it frequently hid behind blunt speech and an acerbic manner.

He exhaled a long weary breath. “Things are tense right now. Mehmet Ali. Thiers. Palmerston. I would happily consign them all to perdition in the same leaky raft. But we are in a tricky place. Palmerston has us on the brink of war, yet if we back down now, unconditionally, we lose face. All that’s left is to let him continue his bluff. He’s sure the French will blink first.”

“And you? What do you think?”

“I think that I can’t allow the government to fall prematurely.”

“Prematurely? What an odd thing to say, William. You predict the government will fall then?” “Not fall, precisely. Rather a peaceful transition of power. When the circumstances are right.” Emma Portman lifted one thin brow. “You are hoping for that?”

“Planning it, Emma. But it must be under my conditions. I am…needed here.” “You would not retire then?”

Melbourne smiled at that, and she saw his entire face soften in a way that looked very much like a man in love. A man who was loved and knew it.

“The Duchess of Kent hints that we might have cause to celebrate news of a happy event.” When she saw his face go still, nearly frozen, she wished she had not spoken. “Nothing has been announced. It might be nothing. But it is bound to happen sooner or later, you know. Our Prince’s interests may lie elsewhere, but he knows his duty.”

Lady Portman watched her friend’s expression for the tensing she expected to see, as he grappled with the emotion he would surely feel. She knew William must suffer torments, knowing that this girl he loved so desperately was the wife of another man. Instead she saw that softening again, and an unmistakably wistful expression in those beautiful dark eyes she knew so well.

“William!” She gasped so loudly several people standing near them turned to see what had caused it. He merely looked at her with a fond, sleepy smile. They were interrupted then by a matron with a whey-faced girl in tow.

Melbourne gazed blankly as introductions were made and bowed carelessly to the pair before making his excuses and sauntering away. Emma watched as he made his way to her and dropped gracefully to one knee, kissing the outstretched hand.

“You came!” Victoria exclaimed, relief and pleasure winning out over the annoyance which he was sure lay underneath.

“I came,” Melbourne agreed. “A long, very difficult day in chambers with some of the most disagreeable – but never mind. Am I too late to hope for a dance with Your Majesty?”

Victoria gratefully accepted and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. She had seen him arrive and watched him as he stood beside Lady Portman, feeling the same jealousy that rose up when he spoke with any lady. But oh! How fine he was, she thought with admiration and now pride also, knowing that he could have any woman in the country and had chosen to love her. Tall, elegant, with something beyond merely handsome chiseled features, some air of grace, some indefinable quality that drew all eyes to him. Men wanted to be him, she thought, and all were his friends, even those awful Tories who made his life so difficult. And woman…Victoria knew instinctively that other women reacted to him just as she did, felt the same liquid warmth, the same rapid racing heart and shallow breath. It would never be easy or comfortable to love such a man, but how could she ever do otherwise?

“You look very tired, Lord M,” Victoria observed. “I am glad you’re here but you may retire if you wish. Albert will attend me.”

“I couldn’t do that. I’ve missed most of the evening already,” he responded, his eyes caressing her. But such sleepy eyes and so strained, she thought.

Waltzing in his arms was as effortlessly wonderful an experience– almost – as the other, far more intimate dance they shared. Their bodies came together as two halves of a whole, moving in tandem without conscious thought. Victoria was able to relax utterly and allow him to lead and she felt herself grow quite warm with longing for him, as she’d done long before she could fully imagine what that meant. Now she knew and she couldn’t get enough of his attention, the sensations his hands and lips and tongue elicited until she was mad with desire.

“If you continue looking at me like that I will forget how tired I am,” Melbourne murmured, leaning forward and putting his mouth so close to her ear she could feel his warm breath.

“If only we could leave now…” Victoria blushed and looked down, embarrassed by her own need.

“And what would we do if we left now? Tell me…”

Her glance flickered up and then away. “You know…you could kiss me and…hug me,” she stammered.

Melbourne smiled tenderly, understanding she was still not at ease talking about their new relationship, even acknowledging it outside the bedchamber. The strictures of her strict Protestant upbringing under the auspices of a frigid old maid, he thought, and then chastised himself for being critical. Melbourne reckoned the Dowager Duchess was far less inhibited in that regard than the governess to whom she’d entrusted her child.

“I will indeed kiss you and…hug you,” he repeated, “and all manner of other things. Today I fancied I still had your delicious scent on me from all those other things, and it helped get me through a grueling day.” As he released her when the dance ended, Melbourne extended his fingers in a gesture that made Victoria blush violently, suffusing her cheeks with a pretty rose hue. He laughed softly and guided her off the floor.

Prince Albert met them with a great show of bonhomie and looped his arms through Melbourne’s and Victoria’s both, talking inconsequentially and laughing. He gallantly seated Victoria and stood closely behind her, flicking his finger towards a waiter bearing glasses of champagne on a tray.

“Victoria, one glass will not harm you, no matter what your mother might think.” Albert handed his wife champagne, giving another glass to Melbourne and keeping the third.

“We should have a toast, but first…you must really do a better job of concealment. Your affection does not go unnoticed and I would prefer not to be branded a cuckold.” The young Prince’s expression was genial, even fond, but Melbourne understood he was serious and nodded once, feeling unequal to the task of issuing an apology, knowing Albert was correct.

“There. Now that I have played the jealous husband…I believe congratulations are in order, Lord Melbourne, If Tante is correct?”

If Melbourne was not pleased to hear the news first from the Prince Consort’s lips, he was thrilled to have his suspicions confirmed.

“Albert!” Victoria hissed angrily. She raised her eyes to Melbourne’s face, her own expression some combination of uncertainty and unease. Can she think I will not be pleased?

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, if it is true may I be the first to felicitate you on such joyous news?” His mind produced the correct words while he struggled to hide the emotions raging inside.

Prince Albert tapped his heels together and bowed, raising his glass.

“Thank you,” he said smiling broadly, “and I would like to return the sentiment. Congratulations to you, Lord Melbourne. If it is true, we will have done our duty to Queen and country, each in our own way.” Albert winked and strolled away, leaving Victoria and Melbourne alone.


	17. Chapter 17

Melbourne could make out a sliver of pearly dawn light. He awoke alone in bed and felt momentarily disoriented, so quickly had he grown accustomed to sleeping with her at his side. The apartment at Buckingham House, he decided, and not his own home, but where was Victoria? He recalled her giving him leave – insisting, in fact, with sweet concern – to retire before the ball ended. Sometime past one he’d dropped into bed exhausted, alone.

He felt his age acutely, an ache low in his back and residual tightness in his shoulders from yesterday. But in the back of his mind, an idea shone so brightly everything else faded like fog in the morning sun.

Victoria enceinte…a baby, his baby growing in her, the child their lovemaking had started. Feeling those nudges, elbows and knees pushing against her drum like belly. It had been so long ago, longer than Victoria had been alive, and he had taken little interest then. Now Melbourne felt almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of becoming a father once more. Not ‘once more’, he corrected himself. That was then and this is now and everything is new.

He strongly suspected Victoria did not feel the same. She was young – so young! – and had no reason to look forward to all the more unpleasant changes her body would undergo. Of course she was afraid! Melbourne would reassure her, give her time to adjust, not expect more from her than she was capable of giving. If they had conceived a child then he would be happy enough for the both of them.

He could wish she had told him first, but it didn’t seem as though she’d told anyone. Rather, it was her mother whom Albert had quoted. Melbourne wished she had come to him in the night, to wake him or merely to sleep beside him but he understood that her shyness and the peculiar, if flattering, insecurity she still felt in his presence prevented such overtures on her part. He would go to her.

Melbourne rose, stifling a groan as his joints adjusted to movement, and put on his old paisley dressing gown. The way their apartments had been connected was truly ingenious, and he appreciated both the delicacy and the skill which had gone into its construction as the mirrored door swung silently inward.

Victoria slept like a child, hand tucked under her head, and was as small as a child in the vast heirloom bed. So young, he marveled, with so much responsibility resting on those small shoulders. He had his own moment of trepidation, disbelieving that this beautiful young woman had given him the right to be standing in her bedroom, that she was his and he was welcome in her bed.

As soon as he sat down her eyes opened, a sleepy smile warming her face, and she reached for him.

“You came,” Victoria whispered with the same surprised delight she had shown when he arrived at the ball.

Melbourne cupped her face in his hand, admiring her smooth creamy skin, the rounded cheeks of a girl contrasting with the elegant jawline of a woman. He smoothed a dark brow with his thumb. Melbourne knew she did not consider herself beautiful but he saw her in her entirety as the most breathtakingly lovely creature alive.

She slid over to make room and he stretched out his legs, leaning back against mounded pillows.

Their eyes met and held in silent communion, hers honest and adoring, his holding a love unfathomably deep because it came from a sensitive soul shaped by experience and heartache.

He was unable to resist touching her, needed to feel her warmth, their connection, and so he reached under her night dress and ran his hand down her side, feeling every curve, the warm silk of her skin, her ribs under taut youthful skin, the indent at her narrow waist, the slope of her hips. She said nothing, remained still with her eyes once more closed, but he heard her inhale deeply. When he reached her thighs Melbourne’s hand slipped to the inside of her leg and he stroked up more slowly, until he heard her breath come more shakily. When he reached that warm place between her legs he just brushed against it before continuing on over her flat stomach, up to one plump breast.

Victoria shifted just enough to present herself where she wanted his touch. Melbourne ignored the invitation and continued his long lazy caresses, from shoulders to knees, only occasionally permitting her the lightest of touches where she wanted them most.

She helped him remove her gown, raising her arms and lifting to free herself. Then she lay back half facing him, this time bending one knee. Melbourne delighted in her arousal and prolonged it as much as she could tolerate, before making exquisitely slow love bathed in the rays of the rising sun.

**

“How late did it go?” Melbourne asked, holding her, both of them still unclothed and damp from exertion.

“Three, I think. I was quite exhausted myself at the end, from dancing and making conversation and having to deal with so many girls and their mothers. Did you see any you thought particularly taking?”

“Just one, ma’am. And as you recall I could barely keep my eyes open with that one.” “Poor Lord M! Are the Tories being especially difficult?”

“Not at all, ma’am. You recall I told you one’s friends are generally the most troublesome?” Melbourne paused. “I will brief you later, officially, on the matters we are struggling with. I’m afraid it’s grown quite a bit more touchy with the French. In the meantime, before I have to leave you…can we discuss the matter to which Albert alluded?”

Victoria’s blank look was unfeigned, Melbourne thought. Perhaps she prefers not to think of it. He laid his hand palm down on the flat stomach beneath her navel and simply looked at her, waiting.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Are you with child, Victoria?” Melbourne asked quietly.

“I’ve only missed one cycle,” she replied, “and everyone says it takes at least two or three to be certain.”

“In a young healthy woman one missed cycle is fairly indicative. But of course, you’re correct that we can’t be certain for a few more weeks. If there is a child on the way…how would you feel about it?” Melbourne watched her struggle with a confusing array of emotions.

“I…I would get used to it, I’m sure. It would change everything. It would change me. We could not do this anymore, could not be close and…” Melbourne chuckled suddenly.

“Wherever do you get that notion? We could most certainly continue to make love. Even at the very last, if you are so inclined, we can find other ways to be close. Who told you otherwise?”

“Lehzen,” Victoria answered defensively.

“Sweetheart, in these matters perhaps you should consult your mother who has had three children. And even from her, do not accept everything as fact. I assure you that if your pregnancy is going well nothing needs to change. In fact,” he grinned, “you might become insatiable and I will be challenged to satisfy you.”

Victoria thought about what he said. Then, “How would you feel about it, Lord M? If I am having a baby?” When she looked she saw tears well up in his eyes and spill over. Startled, Victoria knelt and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Do you think me foolish, that I want it so very much? Our baby. My child, in you.”

Victoria held his head against her breast, stroking his wonderful thick curls, and he wrapped his arms around her. When he looked up, his eyes were still wet.

“Mrs. Melbourne,” he said softly, smiling, and Victoria smiled back. “I love you so very much it frightens me.”

**

Melbourne felt somewhat more prepared to face another long day after washing, shaving and consuming a quantity of strong black coffee. Treating the palace as home had its advantages, and the amenities were no small part of that, he reflected, thinking of his own poorly supervised, mostly idle servants and the inevitable air of vague squalor which permeated his bachelor residence.

He had just climbed into the carriage which would take him back to Downing Street when the Prince Consort detained him.

“William, you are departing early. I had hoped to talk to you before you left.”

“I apologize, Your Royal Highness. I am expected and if I delay further I will be late,” Melbourne answered stiffly.

“May I ride with you? I will have your driver take me back.”

Melbourne, helpless to refuse without seeming churlish, gestured his assent.

“May I ask why you are so formal? Sometimes you seem determined to dislike me.” Lord Melbourne was startled out of his withdrawn manner, and his mouth curved into a small smile at the boy’s disarming frankness.

“I am sorry if I’ve given you that impression, sir. It is a damned awkward situation we’re in. Perhaps that is what you perceive. I do not dislike you.” Melbourne had only said what courtesy required, but he realized it was true, he was beginning to learn to like Albert, or at least appreciate him.

“I hope we can resolve what you call awkwardness. After all, we are just people. You love my wife, she loves you – and me, too, a little I think, as a dear brother – and I love…others. I admire you greatly as a politician and as a man. We will be a family, this child will make us one whether you want that or not. Our baby, William.” He shrugged, and suddenly looked far more Gallic than

Teutonic, his long mournful face and dark eyes at home in a Parisian gallerie. “A baby will ensure I am accepted by your countrymen and be the final means of breaking free from those who hope to remake me in their image.” His womanizing father, Melbourne knew, and the ubiquitous king- maker Leopold. “But that is all. In our home, in our family, you will be your child’s true father. I do not intend to usurp that role.”

“I suspect the Duchess and your uncle will have something to say about that,” Melbourne pointed out reasonably. Albert only shrugged once more.

“Do you still resent me for marrying the Queen? Even knowing - ” he made a small, coquettish gesture, “ what I am?”

“I don’t judge you for, as you say, ‘what you are’. Perhaps I dislike being reminded of what could have been, and project that onto you. If that is the case, it is not fair and I will try to remember that. You have been more than generous to me.” They rode in silence for a few minutes, before Melbourne spoke once more.

“I am engaged at present in an extremely delicate balancing act, trying to keep the opposing factions of my own party from tearing the government apart. If I succeed, and we avert war with France in the process, I intend to resign within months. The Queen will not approve. I hope to persuade her and would like your support.”

“My support?” Albert looked flabbergasted. “You think Victoria listens to me in matters of government? Or where you are concerned?”

“I think she has come to lean on you more than you imagine. That’s a good thing. I can’t always be with her and there are matters in which I must be impartial, no matter what my feelings might be. She will take the news of our party resigning hard. Victoria has an irrational dislike of the Tories, and will think that if I am no longer Prime Minister she will be separated from me.”

“And you think otherwise? Or you wish to remove yourself?” The Prince frowned.

“No!” Melbourne realized too late that he had spoken more emphatically than etiquette permitted. “I’m sorry. No, I do not wish to remove myself.” And he explained the means by which his role would change, evolve into something far different, yet still plausible to justify his presence in the royal household.

“You will have my support, if it counts for anything. Of course, I will hold you to your word. If you are to be the senior adviser to Her Majesty and myself, I will depend on you to introduce me into society, to your clubs, to find something meaningful to do and help me create a life for myself that is more than mere self-indulgence. I must have a purpose, you understand.”

Melbourne looked at him with understanding and a new respect. He had never really given much thought to what must be near-intolerable boredom and aimlessness that clearly grated on an energetic and highly intelligent young man.

Traffic grew heavy as they neared Whitehall, and the raucous voices of carriage drivers, porters and street vendors reached them.

“Before we deliver you and I return, there is one more thing I must mention,” the prince said, and proceeded to tell Melbourne about the curious encounter he had the evening before.

“I saw her watching you since you came in. I thought she would approach you while you spoke with Lady Portman. She was very noticeably observing when you were dancing with Victoria, so much so that I thought I would need to intervene. After you retired for the evening she would

have been introduced to the Queen except I removed Victoria. And then she accosted me and demanded an interview.”

The carriage had stopped. “Pray continue,” Melbourne said gently, resigned to what he knew was coming.

“She thought to warn me, sure I would wish to know that you were a known seducer of young wives and was desirous of saving me from being most ignobly cuckolded.”

“And you said…?”

Albert leaned forward and laid his hand seemingly by accident on Melbourne’s knee. “Why, I expressed my shock and dismay! I said, ‘surely you are mistaken, ma’am, for I believe he intends to seduce me.’” He laughed gaily and climbed across Melbourne, leaping to the ground. When he looked back once again it was to wink.

Melbourne burst out laughing and waved him off, sure now that he would have to become friends with this very unorthodox prince.


	18. Chapter 18

The Court had moved to Windsor for the summer months, such move dictated by tradition and despised by almost all concerned. The staff under the direction of the chief steward had overseen the fundamentals and the Queen’s and Dowager Duchess’s maids and ladies in waiting had done the lion’s share of the work but it still entailed much disruption.

The Prince Consort and the gentlemen of his household, both those officially appointed as Gentlemen of the Bedchamber and those who unofficially served him likewise in the bedchamber, were not fond of the more rural setting of Windsor and the prince particularly regretted leaving his Buckingham House apartments, designed to afford him maximum privacy.

The Queen disliked much about the ancient stone-walled fortress, and even more did she regret the additional miles her ministers must travel for their audiences. Most especially did she dislike the fact that on many days her Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, found the evening too far advanced for him to travel to Windsor only to return to Downing Street at daybreak. Buckingham was an easy ride through St. James Park by comparison, and the Queen had grown accustomed in the past few months to having her Lord M spend nearly every night in the palace.

More particularly, she had grown accustomed to having her Prime Minister spend nearly every night in her bed. Victoria realized she could hardly articulate that complaint, either to Melbourne himself or to the Office of Woods and Forests, which simply assumed Windsor would house the Court over the months of summer as it always had.

Victoria dutifully went through the motions during their first days at Windsor, reviewing the contents of the dispatch boxes with Albert at hand to make notes in his meticulous hand, questions for Lord M or another minister to answer, epistles outlining her views on various matters under consideration.

She would prorogue Parliament in another ten days, and then lawmaking would stop until the Fall Session. Ministry business would continue throughout, of course, and sometime during that summer recess the current government would resign and if all went according to plan an orderly transition of power would take place without the mass disruption. Lord Melbourne had assured her that all would go according to plan, with key Conservatives in agreement and at least some senior Whig statesmen grudgingly supportive. Everyone at least concurred that the slim Liberal majority, so heavily dependent on support from Radicals and Irish nationalists, could not hang on much longer and accepting the inevitable would prevent the Queen from suffering undue stress and turmoil during the fall term, when Her Majesty would be in the late stages of her delicate condition.

**

The Queen and her guests had chosen to sit on the portico, to enjoy the last of the evening breezes before retiring for the night. No matter how many hangings lined the walls, Victoria always detected a faint musty odor in the Windsor apartments, cumulative of centuries, and she was not reluctant to enjoy the fresh air of a June sunset out of doors.

Albert had been unusually attentive, and Victoria appreciated his consideration. He and his young male companions of choice enlivened the interminable evenings without Lord M, contributing the sarcastic wit which Victoria received with gales of helpless laughter, and high spirits which offset listening to the slap of cards on felt tabletops from her mother’s endless games of whist and the carefully modulated conversation of her attendants. Several elderly aunts and cousins were in residence to add to the stultifying atmosphere and Victoria frequently suppressed an urge to snap at one or the other of those who seemed to always surround her.

 She had received no note in Melbourne’s hand since morning, when an envoy delivered the boxes and the official correspondence he sent when unable to personally attend his audience with the Queen. He had not ridden out for three successive days and Victoria was restive and irritable without his steadying presence.

When a page approached bearing a note on silver salver held in white-gloved hands, she almost failed to open it immediately, recognizing the angular hand and assuming that once more he was letting her know he would not ride out. It was nearly nine; surely it didn’t matter now what excuse he gave, Victoria thought. Her intention to delay reading his note lasted for a minute or more before she broke the seal, and the few words she read make her heart start galloping with anticipation. He’d come! Someone observing her closely – which her young husband was – would have seen the brightening of her expression and a smile quickly suppressed. She leaned over to Albert and murmured something, then rose from her seat.

“I find I am unaccountably tired. I do – do not feel quite well. Pray excuse me.” When her ladies- in-waiting stood in unison Victoria waved them off. “I do not wish to be attended. Thank you.”

She hurried away, depending on Albert to ensure she was not followed by any well-meaning busybodies, particularly her mother. Victoria felt a surge of guilt when she had that thought – she knew her mother acted as she did from affection for her daughter and eagerly anticipated grandchild - but the continued disdain she showed Lord M was intolerable.

At Windsor Melbourne’s assigned apartment was near Victoria’s but had no internal access, as did the reconstructed suite at Buckingham House. The best she could do was give orders that he be housed at the end of the same corridor as her apartment and Albert’s, and no one else permitted in that wing.

Victoria ran lightly up the stairs quite alone, remembering as she did so the Kensington rule which had prohibited even such a simple act, and was amused at the goggle-eyed looks from sentries, pages and those few servants still about, seeing the Queen hurry past them.

When she reached her own apartment, her maid stood and curtsied, startled at the unheralded arrival of her mistress and embarrassed to have been caught doing - whatever it was she did while waiting to serve. Victoria greeted her and seeing the girl's surprise that her mistress wished to bathe and change into bed clothes before ten, hesitated – was it too bold and assuming to disrobe and go to him in her nightclothes?

She resented the layout of Windsor which made it incumbent on her to go to him rather than wait for him to come to her. Determined to overcome her own shyness and learn to conduct herself as a grown woman would, Victoria resolutely sat and allowed Miss Skerrett to remove her jewels and begin her bedtime toilette. When she requested the newest French lace negligee, in a deep rose hue, really more like a seductive sheer gown than something worn to sleep, she saw her dresser's small knowing smile.

“Do you think it becoming?” Victoria asked, scrutinizing herself in the mirror. “Will he - do you think the color suits me?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," Skerrett said emphatically. "His Lordship will find it very becoming on you." For a moment their eyes met and Victoria permitted her pleasure at the compliment to show. Then she thought of the honorific and looked away, much flustered. His Lordship, not His Highness. Lord M insisted one had no secrets from one's body servant.

Victoria took a deep breath to steady herself before stepping into the empty corridor. At Melbourne’s apartment she struggled briefly with the heavy door, astounded to realize she’d always assumed the presence of someone to open doors. His small sitting room was empty, but there was light in the bedchamber beyond. What if he isn’t expecting me? The thought unsettled her. Will I seem improperly bold coming to him this way? What if he is displeased? What if he thinks I am unladylike or too demanding?

She looked up, frozen with uncertainty and almost prepared to retreat, and saw him in the doorway to the bedchamber beyond. When she saw the way he looked at her, when he silently he opened his arms, she ran lightly forward, all hesitation gone.

_How good it feels! Like coming home!_ Melbourne’s arms closed around her in the most comforting, comfortably natural of embraces and Victoria thought once again how right it all was and how foolish her shyness. This! This man, these lips on mine, the feel of his chin, rough at day’s end, these hands on my back. His smell, the feel of his skin, the taste of him. This is home to me!

Melbourne had removed his coat and cravat and stood in only trousers and shirt. Victoria saw how bleary those extraordinary heavy-lidded eyes were, the fine lines surrounding them more pronounced.

“You look tired, William. Are you sure you should have traveled all this way?” Victoria remembered her own strident pleas, increasingly irate as each day passed without him, and recognized her own selfishness need.

“I had no choice, ma’am,” he answered, his voice was kind with no recriminations. “I needed this.” He kept his arms wrapped around her, rested his chin on her head and just stood peacefully savoring the moment. When he finally released her Victoria peered up at him, touching his cheek.

“How are you?” she asked and saw him smile at the question.

“How are you? And the little kinglet?” Melbourne laid his hand on her flat stomach, where there was nothing yet to see or feel save perhaps the merest hint of new protuberance.

“He is too small to be troublesome yet, and I have none of the morning sickness I hear so much about.”

“Good! He shows respect for the Queen. Or she,” Melbourne added hopefully. He kept his arm around her shoulders and walked to the bed where he’d been so lately laid out.

“Truly, you look so tired. I am content to just sleep beside you. We need not –“ Victoria allowed her voice to trail off as she felt his fingers tracing her features, sliding lazily down her throat and dip into the front of her pretty new gown. He delicately lifted one breast.

“I think they’re already growing,” he remarked, sounding pleased with the discovery, kissing and fondling first one and then the other as she clung to him, her body racked with shivers of pure pleasure. In awe of her own boldness, Victoria pushed him back against the pillows, determined she would take the lead and lavish the same attention on him he customarily showed her.

Melbourne was content to watch with a sleepy satisfied smile as she made inexpert love, her tenderness more than compensating for lack of experience.

**

Victoria moved up to lay beside him, pulling the bedcovers up over both of them and pillowing her head on his shoulder. He made a small sound of contentment, and when she looked he was already asleep.

She shifted slightly, rising on one arm so as not to disturb him, and studied the face of this man she so desperately adored. Victoria felt her religious faith deeply and had been raised according to tenets even stricter than those of the Church of England, embedded by her beloved Lehzen, a German pastor’s spinster daughter. She understood that church law in all religions considered what she was doing a sin. Adultery. It was an ugly word and she might have agreed it was an ugly deed, had so much not happened to open her eyes to the complexity of life. The Church considered Albert an even worse sinner and condemned his very being. Neither made sense to Victoria within her understanding of right and wrong, ‘do onto others’ and the teachings of Jesus. How could love ever be wrong? How could following your heart, living your truth, ever be wrong when it caused hurt to no one?

Victoria knew herself to be headstrong, and she knew she had a ferocious temper. Her fierce tantrums, the red mist of rage which consumed her as a young child, had only been slightly modified by her good governess. And Victoria was dimly aware, thanks to Lord M’s patient teaching, that she tended toward absolutes, seeing people as either all good or all bad. But examine it as she would from every angle, her love for this man sleeping beside her was so good and pure and strong, so all-consuming, that it had to be ordained by a loving, merciful God. If they did not share this, if they had not taken the ultimate step and consummated their relationship, if he had not gotten her with child, Victoria knew that the white-hot flame of her devotion would burn just as brightly. This man was hers, the other half of her very soul, and without him she would never be whole.

Victoria had a deep, abiding sense of the alternative, the dark path not taken, the one she revolted against. Had she been forced to give up this man she adored and be a true wife to Prince Albert, had he been forced to bury his own inclinations, each of them would have turned into the worst possible version of themselves. All of Victoria’s imperious, angry, censorious traits, which so readily condemned and contained not an ounce of humility, would have come to the fore. And Albert, naturally a serious, sober young man, would have been shaped by repression, forced to deny himself and pretend to be something he was not. His own unhappiness would have defined him as a bitter, priggish, angry person. Together they would have leeched all the joy and color and humanity from themselves, their family, the country and the century, determined to create and maintain a false image, leaving only a bleak, joyless legacy in their wake.

Melbourne had been correct, of course, when he talked about their vast age difference. Victoria only ever considered it when she was forced to recognize they would be cheated out of many years. She would grow up at his side but never grow old with him. Now, touching his face ever so lightly, twirling one of the overlong curls just touched with silver which made him even more handsome, Victoria permitted thought of the child she carried, impossibly tiny yet, a fragile being nestled somewhere inside of her, put there by the love of this wonderful man. Lord M’s baby. Her mind formed the words. He would go on through this child. His son – or daughter - would rule England in another century. Everything which made Melbourne unique, his intelligence softened and tempered by wit and whimsy and appreciation for the foibles of fallible humans, his great capacity for love and for the pain love brought, and so much more, would live on in his child. In this baby, Victoria and Melbourne would be united forever. And for the very first time, instead of annoyance at the inconvenience, dread of the physical changes and discomfort to come, terror of the pains and dangers of birth, Victoria was conscious of a fierce protective love for the baby she carried, the precious embodiment of their love and assurance that Melbourne would live on. She lay back, cradling her still-flat stomach, and pressed herself against the solid comfort of the man sleeping beside her.


	19. Chapter 19

Melbourne had awakened before dawn with a start, as he always did when with her, his subconscious maintaining a careful watch. He would rouse her gently and guide her back to her own apartment, her own bed, or remove himself from hers. It would be more prudent, he often thought, if they did not permit themselves to fall asleep at all, but then nothing about this affair was prudent.

He never lost sight of the risk they were running. She would have her reputation torn to shreds, becoming no more than a butt of crude jokes like those lobbed at Caroline Norton during the trial. Society judged women harshly, while the men involved were almost lionized, treated with a wink and a nod, but he would be remembered as the corruptor, the seducer and defiler of a girl-Queen. Victoria, his bright, shining girl, would be ever after tarnished in the eyes of the world and he would be helpless to protect her. Only Albert could do that, her cousin and bridegroom, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. In that young man’s hands lay everything Melbourne cared about in the world, this girl sleeping beside him and the child she carried.

**

The sun was already warming her face when Victoria had been awakened in the most delightful of ways. She was surprised, for he was scrupulous about returning her to her own bed before dawn. She felt his length pressed against her back, his warm breath in her ear, and rubbed her cheek against his chin like a cat, enjoying the sandpapery roughness against her skin. His arm was around her, his hand nestled between her legs, and she coasted on the warm heady waves of sweet sensation that could only ever come from him.

She was surprised and pleased when he said he did not have to return to the City. His Cabinet would not meet again until Monday. Little remained to be argued before the Queen closed the current session of Parliament. It would be the first unbroken stretch of days they would have together since…and that was where Victoria always stopped, unable to find the right word to describe what they were and what had happened to change it all.

For two years they had been together almost all the time. Acting as her Private Secretary as well as her Prime Minister, Lord M had been at her side every morning, rode out every afternoon, dined at the palace most evenings and sat in her drawing room until late in the evening. That heady, intoxicating familiarity, the wonderful unplanned talks they had on every subject under the sun, the lazy unforced luxury of time had allowed Victoria’s instant admiration, what some called the infatuation of a mere girl, to blossom into the great love that would shape and define her life and her destiny.

Victoria often felt something almost like regret that what she had done, insisting Lord M accept her feelings and admit his own, was trade friendship for love. The things they did in the night, as dizzyingly wonderful as they were, seemed to come at the cost of those endless hours in each other’s company throughout the day, and she desperately missed that other kind of intimacy. After her marriage, during those long weeks when he stayed away entirely, Albert had taken on the role of Private Secretary. Both he and Victoria had offered to revert to the way things had been – Albert even more eagerly than Victoria, she thought – but Lord M had demurred, citing a need to continue focusing on the business of government, so long slighted in favor of his focus on tutoring the Queen. He resumed his afternoon audiences, still daily rather than the weekly visits he’d paid her Uncle William, and most often dined at the Palace and stayed the evening, but they never seemed to have as much time alone together as Victoria wanted and rarely did they lapse into the old confidential ease. There was a peculiar self-consciousness between them that Victoria sensed

but could not overcome. And he was so excessively careful to avoid any scrutiny of their relationship! Even with Albert, who of course knew and approved and made it possible, Lord M remained frustratingly distant and polite. He still showed her those small secret almost-smiles, his eyes were still soft when they met hers, and Victoria knew she was loved but she missed those days when it was just the two of them for long unbroken hours. His tenderness, the love overflowing in his eyes when he came to her in the dark of night, was a treasure beyond price but she missed the uncomplicated friendship of the early days.

Victoria hurried to meet him at the stables with an almost giddy sense of anticipation, Dash and Islay running alongside. They would ride out together as they used to, with no thought for a schedule or how things appeared. For the first time she even thought appreciatively of the Windsor Great Park, that vast expanse of ancient wood which would give them the time and space she craved.

“What’s that?” Victoria’s laughter bubbled over when she saw the mare standing placidly beside Melbourne’s horse. “Where’s Comus? Has he taken ill?” Her favorite mount had been replaced by a sleepy-looking mare.

“His Lordship thought that a more sedate beast might serve you best in your – your present condition, ma’am,” a young groom nearby offered.

“Sir George said so? Or –“ Victoria’s glance flickered towards Melbourne and thought he looked uncommonly sheepish. She thought better of arguing and merely stepped on the mounting block with a small knowing smile. Clearly Lord M had suggested the most docile horse in the stable and this one, probably a nanny companion to one of the high-spirited racers, would do as well as any. Victoria understood why he had done so, as foolish as the notion was, for never had she seen a man so completely besotted by the idea of a baby…especially one who would never bear his name.

They started out on one of the well-traveled paths and meandered deeper into the forest as they talked. Melbourne told her amusing on dits from society she would otherwise never hear, scuttlebutt from his clubs that was a trifle off color and made her giggle at the naughty bits. He recounted news heard at the Hollands’ table. Victoria knew they were his greatest friends and she was always a bit put out when he preferred dining there and lingering in their famed salon. He described the political talk that was heard recently, all about the difficulty the Whigs were having staying in power, and of a celebrated novelist, Mr. Dickens, who was a favorite of Lady Holland’s.

“You are very fond of her, L – William?” His Christian name did not role easily off her tongue, but he looked so pleased when she used it that she resolved to continue.

“Of her and Henry, yes. They are some of my oldest and dearest friends.” “Does she mind not coming to Court? Would you like me to invite her?”

“She feels it keenly,” Melbourne replied with some measure of surprise. “They all do when they cannot. It’s the stigma of exclusion, you understand, not that anyone particularly –“ he stopped suddenly and Victoria laughed despite herself.

“Not at anyone particularly wants to come to a Court function when there are so many more enjoyable activities?” Victoria glanced sidelong at him. “I know it’s what they all think, and what they all say. I wish I could go out into society. It’s no more fun for me to sit like a graven idol while they all stare and stammer, than it is for them to attend. But,” she sighed, “such is my lot. Shall I invite her?”

“I would like to say yes, and I assure you that she would not find it tedious, if you allowed her to know you a little. I am not the only one of my friends who would find you charming and a delightful companion if protocol and your own nerves allowed you to unbend, sweetheart.” Victoria accepted the criticism, if that’s what it was, in good grace and his use of an endearment thrilled her. “But if you invite her it would only rile up others who are in the same situation.”

“You may find my cousin Ferdinand interesting to know. He’s here through the week and Albert has already told him many good things about you.”

“Another Prince Consort. Now there’s a role I don’t envy anyone. I count myself fortunate in having the benefits without the title.” Victoria glanced at him once more, surprised and pleased that he was flirting.

“And speaking of Prince Albert, I would like to invite him to town next week. There’s a commission seeking a patron and I think he might suit well. When I return from Hertfordshire I’ll–“

“When you return from where?” Victoria asked sharply, not sure she’d heard correctly. “Are – are we going to Brocket Hall?” Brocket Hall, his country home, the one place she felt as though she was truly a wife, or the closest thing to it she could have.

“Not Brocket,” Melbourne replied, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Panshanger. Surely, I mentioned it? I’m leaving this afternoon, for the weekend. Emily is having a house party this weekend for Charles’ birthday.”

“You? Did she invite me?” Victoria knew as soon as she spoke what he would say, and regretted her words, for if there was anything she found intolerable it was appearing foolish. “Never mind. Of course she didn’t. She doesn’t know about us and wouldn’t want me there if she did.”

“Victoria –“

“Your sister would prefer you married, to some suitable lady. Not the consort, and an unofficial one at that, of the Queen.” Victoria lifted her chin and rode on in silence, determined to let the moment pass. After a few minutes without speaking, she could bear it no longer. Wasn’t he going to dispute her? Say that of course his sister did not disapprove. Disapprove! Victoria thought with sudden outrage. How dare she, a Viscountess and one embroiled in enough scandal herself, with her 30 years’ affair with Palmerston, disapprove of a Queen?

“Why do you have to go? You are here seldom enough since – since before. Now you have a whole weekend without obligations and you choose to go to the country?” She heard herself and knew she sounded shrill, almost whining, but could not stop herself.

“Victoria – we can not be as we were. I am with you many nights. Even with Albert’s support people will remark when they see us together. There is difference shrewd observers will perceive. I’ve noted it myself in others, and women are far quicker than men to spot such things. When a couple is – is intimate, you can tell, no matter how undemonstrative they might be in public.” Melbourne’s impatience was beginning to show and it angered Victoria further.

“Because you love me and I love you we can be in each other’s company less often? Because you come to my bed at night we can no longer enjoy each other during the day, behaving quite properly? Then it was better before, when you were only my Prime Minister and my friend.”

“I believe I told you that once or twice,” Melbourne replied quickly. Victoria went white and pressed her lips together, nudging the intolerably sluggish horse forward so she could show him her back.

“Come…don’t be angry. I am going to my sister’s country house tonight and will be back Sunday night. Instead of going directly to South Street I will come through Windsor and stop here.”

Victoria looked at him and saw his handsome chiseled features, those dark eyes with the impossibly long lashes, and thought how many other women admired him.

“Who else will be there?” She asked. Melbourne shrugged dismissively.

“Lord and Lady Uxbridge, the Stanhopes, Conyngham, George Byng, Lord Auckland’s sister, the Duke of Devonshire, Ponsonby…I’m not really certain who else Emily has invited. Will, of course, and probably some friends of my nephews.”

“And how many of those – Lord Auckland’s sister? Is that the Emily your sister wished to marry you to?” Victoria glared at him, making the connection. “And Lady Stanhope – Lady Sutherland and Lady Portman were speaking of her as one of your former connections. She has a daughter who was in my wedding, a daughter Harriet said was rumored to be yours. The beautiful dark- haired girl who carried a part of my train.” Victoria’s color was rising and the tears spilling out of her eyes only made her angrier.

Melbourne was exasperated. “Victoria, this is becoming nonsensical. If Harriet Sutherland was spouting any such gossip I knew just where she heard it, for only one person has ever made that accusation. The girl is not mine. For Heaven’s sake, Victoria, you are turning this into a needless argument. The house will be filled to overflowing, and at these things it’s generally the men – most of whom will be queued with me for a chance to press their own last-minute agendas before we dissolve the Parliament – in one end of the house and the women in another.”

“Go. In fact, get an early start and go now for all I care – “ Victoria broke off to control her horse. The animal was unaccustomed to her, or overly sensitive to the mood of its rider, for the somnolent mare of the stable was suddenly restive, tossing its head and fighting the bridle. “If everything had to change, then I wish we had never begun. I lost my friend and all the time you used to spend with me, and in return I get with child and will grow fat and sit here all alone while you gallivant about the countryside every weekend and do God knows what in town all week.”

The horse’s violent head tosses were jostling her and Melbourne reached across to grab the bridle to steady it. Victoria was outraged at his failure to respond, to deny her accusations and soothe her instead of the horse. She jerked away sharply and flicked her crop once, twice on the animal’s flanks to spur it forward. Victoria was an excellent horsewoman and even an unfamiliar, skittish beast was no match for her. They surged forward together. The sensation of speed and freedom, the wind in her face, did nothing for the ache in her heart but Victoria exulted nonetheless, nudging her horse faster, expecting to hear hooves behind her on the narrowing trail. Very well, since he wouldn’t race her, let him follow in her wake to teach him a lesson. It was only the overhanging branches of a lightning-struck tree that stopped her.

Victoria felt the whip-sharp sting of a branch in her face and the sudden salty taste of blood in her mouth. Even then she thought first of the horse, likewise struck full in the face, and would have brought them to a safe stop except it reared in surprise and twisted violently to escape the unknown. The last thing she remembered was dumbfounded shock that such a stupid-looking dull animal could prove so deadly.

**

Even while he went through the motions of trying to soothe her, Melbourne was aware that he was too impatient with her outburst to do the job properly. It was this, he thought, all of this that he had hoped to avoid. And he couldn’t in good conscience disagree with her when she said, ‘If everything had to change, then I wish we had never begun’. When he’d considered their vast age

difference as a barrier, it was not only his years to which he referred. Her extreme youth and immaturity – raised in isolation, simultaneously neglected and pandered to – made her an entirely ineligible prospect as a wife. Melbourne knew that at twenty-one he would not have had the tact or patience, and at almost sixty the prospect of loving a very young woman had little appeal. It was Victoria, that indomitable will, that spirit and joie de vivre and her inability to dissemble and so many other things which made him helpless to do anything but love her, his Gloriana. And helpless he was, for he would certainly not have chosen to do so. Melbourne knew himself well, knew the essential dichotomy which defined him, cynic and idealist, prone to melancholy yet endlessly amused by life, and nothing was more important to him than harmony. And yet he’d given his heart away not once but twice, to tempestuous creatures who were his opposites in every way. Not that Caro and Victoria were similar…and yet, they were, in ways only the man who’d loved them both would recognize.

Melbourne was keenly aware of the irony, but she had pursued him, had thrown herself at him again and again, this girl-Queen he was supposed to have seduced and corrupted, so said his enemies. And yes, he’d been helpless to resist. He adored her, he knew his life would be over if he didn’t have her and he knew whatever chance of wresting any happiness at all from his existence would be loving her as she deserved to be loved, but he also knew it wouldn’t be easy, or harmonious.

The dark side of this _affaire d'amour_ , the slipping into her bed after dark, carefully concealing his emotions, the discomfort he felt around her when others were near, were the things which, if they were not careful, would condemn it. Victoria was the most honest, guileless person he’d ever known yet Melbourne recognized it was he who had the more difficult time guarding his emotions. She’d always looked at him with an almost childlike adoration and made no attempt to hide it, but it was the softening of his own features, the reverence he could scarcely conceal, which would give them away.

Her mercurial passions were always on display, but he’d been taken off guard by the vehemence with which she’d attacked him for proposing a simple weekend away. Had she been harboring these feelings, these resentments for long? Was there any merit to them? Melbourne was always the first to see both sides to any argument and he was lost in reflection when he first became aware of something awry. It took him a moment to realize what he heard was the two dogs yapping frantically up ahead. He looked up just in time to see, far down the narrowing overgrown trail, the mare rearing up on two legs and violently throwing its rider.


	20. Chapter 20

By afternoon the fine June day had fittingly turned dark and stormy to match the mood at Windsor. Melbourne had retreated to his grace-and-favor apartment with a bottle of claret and his shattered nerves.

Victoria had taken her first breath when he reached her, suddenly gasping and gulping in air. Her eyes had flown open – those magnificent big blue eyes! - and nothing had ever been more beautiful to him. They fixed on his face, alert and focused, in that look she reserved for him, as though he was her light and salvation, and he reflexively sent up a prayer of gratitude to Whoever might be listening.

Her little gloved hand had clutched his coat to pull herself up but as soon as she did so her face crumpled. “Everything spins so!” Victoria whispered in a voice so soft he had to lean forward to hear her. “And my head hurts!”

She clung to him and he let her as long as he could, until a makeshift litter was brought and she was transported back to the palace. Melbourne followed in her wake, pleased beyond words at the sound of that clear sweet voice complaining at the fuss and insisting she could walk or ride. She was taken to her room, a physician in residence already waiting with her mother and the Baroness. A trio of young women, indistinguishable to Melbourne even though one was his niece, huddled and whispered in the Queen’s drawing room until Emma Portman briskly sent them on their way. Servants gathered goggling in the corridor, drawing back when the Prime Minister passed. Her husband had been summoned and came on the run in shirt sleeves, followed by several of his ever-present male attendants. He stopped short when he saw Melbourne and pulled him aside.

“Where is she? Can you tell me what happened?” Melbourne was somewhat surprised to see the boy’s agitation and genuine concern. He summarized as best he could the little he’d seen and Victoria’s condition when he found her.

“Her mother and Baroness Lehzen are with her. I’m sure they’re expecting you.”

Albert’s brown eyes narrowed. “Then you must come too, Lord Melbourne. Your place is with Victoria.”

Melbourne tried for a casual shrug. “I’m afraid that would not be appropriate, Your Highness. If I can be of service you need only summon me.”

The Prince frowned and shook his head slightly as if disappointed. Melbourne’s mouth turned down in a small bitter smile. “Your Highness, when there is news to impart I’m sure I will be informed, but nothing dire will happen, nothing that would concern Her Majesty’s Prime Minister.”

“But I think Her Majesty’s friend would be concerned, William. Come with me. I insist. As your sovereign’s husband, I insist.”

Melbourne resigned himself to barge into the Queen’s bedchamber where he was certain to be unwelcome. The Duchess of Kent did in fact glare at him, looking down her long narrow nose at a mere politician in her daughter’s bedroom, but said nothing. Albert kissed his aunt and nodded curtly to Lehzen before speaking to them quietly while Victoria looked on, resting against a stack of pillows. The jacket of her riding habit had been loosened and her boots removed but she was otherwise dressed, alert and annoyed. Melbourne was impressed with Albert’s efficiency at clearing Victoria’s bedchamber, and she herself made her gratitude obvious. As soon as they were alone she extended her hand.

“William, please…come forward. I’m so dizzy I can’t see you well, but I’m otherwise sound.” When Melbourne hesitated, Albert echoed her words.

“William, come, please. We are quite alone, there’s no need for pretense.”

Prince Albert drew up a chair and sat in it, waving Melbourne to take a seat on the edge of her bed. With considerable awkwardness he complied, and Victoria instantly gripped his hand and held it in both of hers possessively.

“Thank you so much, Albert. I couldn’t bear having Mama and Lehzen hover as though I were ill. I love them of course but I’m fine. As soon as the physician examines me I can get up.”

Albert, less careful than Melbourne, laughed. “Is that why you are talking to us with your eyes closed, Victoria? You hit your head. Too bad it didn’t knock some sense into it. You are so stubborn!”

Victoria grimaced and swatted at her husband as though he were an especially annoying brother. When Melbourne saw them together he was forcibly reminded of his own youth, he and his brothers and their sister. Still, came a warning voice, they are so young…things can change and where would that leave you?

“Victoria, you forget – William, tell her, she has not only herself to worry about. She must take care for our baby as well.”

Victoria took Melbourne’s hand and placed it over her stomach. Despite his own reticence, Melbourne kept it there. Protecting his child, willing it to feel his presence.

“I will go out and keep watch for the physician,” Prince Albert said tactfully, excusing himself. When he had gone Melbourne scrutinized Victoria, shaking his head a little.

“What are we going to do with you?” he murmured as though talking to a child.

Her eyes troubled, Victoria tried to sit upright and gasped. “Lord M – William, please don’t be cross with me.”

“I am not cross, ma’am. But if our situation makes you unhappy perhaps –“

“Unhappy? I am not unhappy,” she protested, fat tears filling her eyes. Melbourne caught one with his thumb.

“But you are. I can’t be what you need and your marriage is no marriage. I want you to be happy, Victoria. You deserve nothing less. You’re expecting a baby you were not ready for, in less than ideal circumstances.” Victoria gasped. She huddled over her stomach, holding herself and rocking back and forth while sobs wracked her. Melbourne watched helplessly.

“Don’t say that!” she shrieked. “You will bring bad luck. My baby – our baby – will be well, you’ll see. I can’t lose him, I can’t, he’s yours, he’s ours…”

Melbourne showed his surprise. “I thought you were dismayed at the prospect?”

“Whether or not you have changed your mind, I want this baby with my whole heart,” she cried.

“Come…come, don’t upset yourself so. The baby will be fine, I’m sure. I spoke without thinking. There would be signs if your pregnancy were at risk.” Melbourne moved closer to Victoria and held her. At his touch she pitched herself at him and pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Please…say you didn’t mean any of it…I’m not unhappy…I didn’t mean to sound as if I was…I was angry, not unhappy…” While she whimpered, her words muffled by his coat, Melbourne held her and patted her shoulder. He was not certain why he felt so hollow inside, as though he were comforting a stranger and not the girl he adored.

**

If the physician wondered why the Prime Minister stood with the Queen’s husband he said nothing to question it. Having watched his wife miscarry several times, Melbourne was not surprised at the physician’s verdict: The Queen must rest in bed for the next few days and watch for any untoward signs of distress, spotting blood, cramping, lower back pain. The latter would be difficult to distinguish from the pain she felt from skull to hips, the natural result of twisting mid-air and slamming down hard onto the earth. Her limbs all functioned properly, and while extremely unpleasant, she showed none of the more agonizing symptoms of a spinal fracture.

The doctor determined by touch that Victoria’s skull was intact, and he diagnosed contusio cerebri. In a less celebrated patient, bedrest alone would be the remedy but since a prominent surgeon specializing in such injuries happened to be lecturing in London it was proposed to invite Baron Guillaume Dupuytren to consult.

Reassured that the Queen was not in danger, Melbourne excused himself from returning to her side and disappeared into his own apartment, where the Prince Consort found him later.

Albert was the object of much curious speculation by Lord Melbourne. He found himself disliking him far less than he’d originally expected. A serious fellow to be sure, especially for one so young, yet relieved of any need to guard himself from suspicion Melbourne discovered a vein of impudent humor in the young German prince which appealed to him. Albert, much like the young Victoria, made no attempt to disguise his affection and admiration and Melbourne was as flattered as he was bemused. This boy from an impoverished German line had the same innate, unforced arrogance which made dealing with royals such a tedious affair, and yet with Melbourne the prince consistently showed a most unlikely deference, as though in truth he was the husband and Albert a young relative.

Cracking open a second bottle and vaguely waving it toward his visitor, Melbourne thought that perhaps the strongest feeling he held towards the Queen’s young husband was a weary acceptance. Weary, because he embodied the complications of this new life, and acceptance only because a real friendship would be far too difficult to navigate, given their situation.

Disregarding protocol, Melbourne slumped back down in his chair and eyed the young man blearily. Albert lifted the glass he’d poured and looked through the shimmering red liquor.

“Victoria is strong. Small but mighty. She will recover.” Melbourne idly thought that the thick accent lessened considerably when the boy was at ease, and became almost incomprehensible when he was tense or on guard. He stared at this interloper. Tall, lean, undeniably handsome, even though his very erect posture and something foreign in the way he held himself looked strange to an Englishman. The German cousin would never be a courtier, Melbourne decided, but could pass easily for an impoverished student, artist or musician. Never an aristocrat, if not for the arrogance which Melbourne suspected was worn like armor. He became aware he was staring openly only when Albert’s liquid black eyes caught and held his own.

“I think I know what Victoria sees in you, Lord Melbourne. Why she is so obsessed with you. What a pity you’ve never been interested in men!” Albert’s small smile was intimate and flirtatious. Melbourne merely raised an eyebrow.

“You won’t shock me,” he drawled. “You’re hardly the first. In my youth it was quite a fad, and many of the poets with whom my wife associated herself had no particular preference in that regard, loving men and woman both. Sometimes together.”

Albert’s angular features warmed into a pleased smile which was more engaging, Melbourne realized, than his assumed air of seductiveness.

“And did you share in that – spirit of adventure, William?”

Melbourne smirked. “Are you here to get to know me better? I fear you’ll be disappointed. We have quite enough complications to contend with as it is. But,” he lifted his glass in a mock toast. “thank you nonetheless.”

“’Complications’,” Albert repeated, mimicking the entirely English pronunciation, all trace of accent gone. “Is that what we have? Do you love her?” Melbourne was caught off-guard by the blunt question. He sighed and looked away.

“Can you doubt it, sir? I wish it were otherwise but…yes, I love her.”

“Then why are you so cold to her? It didn’t used to be that way. When I first came here the – the bond between you two was obvious. To me, to my uncle and father, to everyone. And yet, now that it is possible for you to be together you withdraw.”

“I’m not aware that I have. I don’t know what else I can do. There is, after all, a child on the way. A child who will be invested as Prince of Wales, recognized as a future King. Your child.”

“Your child, William. Please, let’s not hide behind titles. Talk to me. I want to understand. I have a life I never dared hope for, but I can not enjoy it at the expense of my cousin’s happiness.”

“You don’t understand. You make it all sound so simple. You don’t understand what it’s like to love someone you can never acknowledge.” Melbourne’s voice grew hoarse as he trailed off.

Prince Albert shocked him by laughing, so hard and long he had to gasp for breath.

“You say that to me? I don’t understand what it’s like to love someone in secret? Please… William…” Despite the wine fumes fogging his thoughts Melbourne realized what he’d said. Of course, if there was one person who understood exactly that, it was this young man.

“If Victoria was not a Queen would you have been willing to marry her? If there were no other considerations, if she did not live in the public eye? Please, answer honestly. Would you have still been afraid to marry her?”

Melbourne felt a flash of anger, quickly dissipated. He was too honest with himself to not consider the question. At length he only sighed and looked away, unable to meet Albert’s gaze.

“You’re too young to understand what it’s like when everything goes wrong. The love of a wife turns towards someone else. Children are born – wrong, imperfect, and then they die. The humiliation of public scandal. It’s far more comfortable to not allow one’s heart to be held hostage. Find your pleasure without that complication. Make friendships, have companions and treat them well, but avoid if you can the entanglements of love. There’s my advice to you, if you were my son.”

Albert appeared to consider his words. “And if I follow your advice I will be happy?”

Melbourne’s gaze fixed on his in silence, and then laughed shortly. “I couldn’t really say. I haven’t managed to follow it myself.”

“So, for whatever it might be worth do you want my advice?”

Melbourne shrugged carelessly, but it was not a dismissive gesture. He found he enjoyed the young man’s audacity, cloaked in diffidence.

“My tutor always told me if a thing’s worth doing at all it’s worth doing the best you possibly can. Halfway measures rarely satisfy anyone.” Albert paused and Melbourne thought this time his modesty was sincere. “You love Victoria. Perhaps…don’t try quite so hard to pretend there is nothing between you. Tell your family, those you trust. Do you know why it means so much to ones such as I, that we can be ourselves? Some people say that what happens in private should stay in private and there is no need to proclaim ourselves. And for some that may be true. But for such as me, until I can be myself amongst others, friends, family like Victoria and my brother who accept me, it feels as though nobody really sees me at all. I think perhaps for her, it is like that. To Victoria, what you are to her is so much more than something she does. It is who she is.”

“We can hardly promenade before the Court,” Melbourne spluttered but he already understood.

“And now you have even more reason to dislike me. I dare preach to you, a man for whom I have very much respect. I hope we can still be friends.” The younger man tilted his head in a beguiling, coquettish gesture which made Melbourne grin.

“I don’t dislike you, Albert. Although you do not appeal to me that way. As I said, this thing is complicated enough as it is.” His mouth twitched in a small smile.

“But it is as if we are all married, the three of us!” Albert laughed gaily. “And soon our little family will increase.” He rose, stretching languorously, and tossed back his long fringe of hair. “I have given orders to the steward and to the Captain of the Household Guard that there are to be no sentries or pages in this wing of the palace. My household and the Queen’s are sufficiently remote that we can between us guarantee Her Majesty’s safety. Good night, William.”

Melbourne rose hurriedly, remembering the minimal demands of etiquette, and bowed. For a horrified instant he thought the prince would embrace him, but instead he merely winked and strode out.

He sat alone for a long while, staring into the empty hearth as though flames danced there. Then he too walked out.

Albert had, true to his word, ensured the corridor was deserted. When he entered the Queen’s apartment it was nearly empty. Only a single attendant sat in the drawing room, reading by the glow of a lamp, and if she looked mildly surprised to see him she was at least not outraged.

“His Royal Highness told me to stay until you came. He did not wish the Queen to be alone in case she called out.” Melbourne stood, hands at his side, meeting his old friend’s gaze squarely. The prince had chosen wisely and not, he thought, by accident. Albert was rapidly rising in Melbourne’s estimation, for a canny intelligence it was easy to overlook.

“Thank you, Emma. I think you may go now.”

Lady Portman’s face was grim, but her eyes were both sad and kind. “William, do you know what you’re doing?”

“I do, Emma. Not entirely – I’m learning as I go. But I think I’m making progress.”

“I have to ask, as your friend. Tell me the truth so I can help you if I can.” Grey eyes met green ones, searching. Melbourne recalled Albert’s words.

“Yes, Emma. And yes, to your next question.”

“The child?” She whispered so softly he read the question on her lips.

“Mine. She and the child, both mine.” Melbourne tasted the words, rolling them around on his tongue, and it felt good to say them aloud.


	21. Chapter 21

She appeared to be asleep, propped nearly upright against a mound of pillows. Her eyes were closed, her features composed. Melbourne paused at the foot of the bed, looking at his sleeping beauty. Her dark hair streamed over her shoulders, framing that perfect little face. Lehzen or her maids had dressed her in a virginal white gown that matched the snowy bedcovers neatly tucked around her. It occurred to him for a moment that her devoted governess could not have done more to ensure a picture of inviolate chastity, had she known he was coming.

Melbourne drew up the chair Albert used earlier and sat beside the bed. He shouldn’t have come, perhaps – she needed her rest undoubtedly, and thus far his midnight visits to her bedchamber had only been directed towards one purpose, the farthest thing from his mind at present. But he’d felt compelled to see her, and where previously it was precisely such a tender imperative which he would have fought most strenuously against, he remembered her cousin’s impudent urging.

He was suddenly certain she wasn’t asleep at all, only prolonging the time before she had to hear what he came to say. My God, have I given her that much dread of what I might do? Surely she can’t think – but of course, she could. Those who had known him far longer had never known how to take his blue spells, the periods of soul-searching melancholy which drew him into himself.

Melbourne leaned forward and picked up one hand, where it lay across her middle. He pressed it to his lips. Victoria turned her head and looked at him, her mouth curving in a small tentative smile.

“William,” she whispered, and he wasn’t certain whether it was a greeting or a plea. In either case, she appeared so absurdly young and infinitely precious that Melbourne felt tears welling in his eyes even as his lips formed a smile.

“Victoria,” he replied in a low, caressing tone, permitting his feelings to soften his expression. Still holding her hand, he rose from the chair and leaned over her bed, looking for permission. Victoria instantly, eagerly, shifted herself to make room.

“How do you feel?” Melbourne asked, instantly solicitous.

“My back aches, but otherwise I feel fine. The physicians say that is normal after a fall and will resolve in a few days or weeks. Sir Henry’s opinion is I would do better to be up and about to keep it from stiffening but Ferguson insists I must rest in bed for the next few days. So here I am. Fortunately I will still be able to work so will not be deprived of my Prime Minister’s advice.”

“Or, I hope, the consolation of your companion’s support,” Melbourne added smoothly, his tone teasing and intimate. “We are not necessarily one and the same, although at present there is some resemblance. That other fellow, the politician, can be quite stiff and distant. I, on the other hand…” He sat beside her on the bed, kicking off his slippers and stretching out long legs encased in casual breeches. Victoria immediately leaned against him, squirming into place until she was comfortable within his encircling arms.

“Have you forgiven me?” She asked, unwilling to meet his gaze so he saw only the top of her head.

“Forgiven you, ma’am? What is this foolishness?”

“My…my childish temper put our child in danger. Your child, Lord M. This baby I already love for your sake. Can you forgive me?” Victoria did look up then, her blue eyes full of shame and regret.

“Put that thought out of your head, please. Our child. We will be parents together. The little kinglet is made of tougher stuff than you credit.” Melbourne tightened his arm around her shoulders.

“Enough of this now. We’ve both much to learn, as I’ve told you already. Me, more than you and without the excuse of inexperience. Smile for me, and tell me you forgive me, and I’ll give you a present.” Melbourne reached in his pocket and took out a small, quite battered leather box with tiny brass hinges. He opened it and removed a ring. “Nothing to compare with the jewels Your Majesty already has of course, and if you don’t choose to wear it I’ll understand.”

“For me? Of course, I will wear it and treasure it.”

“My father – my natural father – died several years ago. He gave this to my mother long before. She saved it for me. ‘Au bon droit’, the Wyndham motto. He left no legitimate heir although,” Melbourne grinned, “rumor has it he left nearly a hundred of us to compensate.”

Melbourne lifted her right hand, his face suddenly solemn and composed. “With this ring I plight thee my troth. If you’ll have me, Alexandrina Victoria?”

Victoria sat spellbound, staring at the ring he placed on her finger, a square cut Burma sapphire set in a feminized version of a signet ring, lettering engraved in impossibly tiny script around the edges, framed in tiny diamonds.

“William Lamb, I give thee my troth,” she said, repeating the words of the Common Prayer rite. He held her face in both hands and kissed her with exquisite tenderness. “I love you, Mrs. Melbourne.”

Victoria blushed prettily and smiled at the old slur, liking the sound of it as much as she had when it was first flung at them by critics.

“I love you, William Lamb. Do you really mean you wish to be my…my husband?”

“If you’ll be patient and teach me. I was no model husband in my youth and would like to learn how to do better…” Melbourne stopped, as though he would not continue, and when Victoria glanced up at him she thought he was looking into himself and his past.

“When I married Caro, as much as I was infatuated with her, I viewed marriage as a lark. She was a tomboy, a hoyden my sister called her, but still idealistic in a way that it amused me to tear down. I exposed all the weaknesses of the belief systems which might have later constrained her and mocked the rather superficial morality which nonetheless gave her some structure. Caro was young, as young as you are now and I was not much older myself, but old enough to have shown better sense. Her refinement and education I chipped away at, and convinced her there was no constraints to doing as we liked. I made – other mistakes as well. I told her in great detail about my less reputable affairs because it pleased me to titillate her imagination and enflame her jealousy. I introduced her to practices that…that I should not. And as the world knows all, my mistakes came home to roost. If I am reticent with you, it is not entirely due to a need to preserve some independence, although I confess to that as well. But I do not wish to repeat the errors of the past. Perhaps even saying as much as I have about her, about my marriage, is another mistake but…I want you to know me, even if it means you will discover I do not belong on a pedestal.”

Melbourne turned to face her.  He felt a lump in his throat he could not clear, looking at her solemn face turned up, her wide eyes unblinking as she digested what he said. Have I said too much? How much is enough, so she understands who I am? Is it too late? Or too soon?

“Those who warned you about me were not far off the mark. I am disreputable, I carry a cloud of scandal about me. I believe in little enough beyond Crown and Constitution, and until you I was entirely skeptical about half of that equation. I had long ago decided marriage for love is an impossibility, and nothing can more surely condemn the natural feelings between a man and a woman as entering into a contract for that purpose. Two minds, however congenial they may be, can never act like one. By taking a wife, a man gives the right to interfere with and advise him and runs the risk of putting in his own way an obstacle to acting according to his own inclinations. I believed that for most of my life and certainly saw clear examples, in my own marriage and those around me. That as much as anything informed my decision to send you away, Victoria. Albert calls it cowardice, and I can’t say he’s wrong. But he also challenged whether my determination to avoid another contretemps like that of my marriage has made me happy. And I had to say no.”

“Albert said that?” Victoria asked in surprise.

“Yes, Albert. Your husband is a great proponent of marriage, it seems. Just not his own, for which I am grateful.”

“If you believe that – about marriage, or I suppose even about the near thing we have – why did you change your mind and come to me? Only because you could have me no other way?” Melbourne lifted his brows and studied her. Her voice sounded almost detached, and more world- weary than he would have thought possible for such a young woman. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, searching for an explanation which would suffice. Finally, he shrugged and smiled weakly.

“Because I had no choice, ma’am. I cannot exist without you. If you would not have me I doubt I would have lasted long. You are my lifeblood. You and now the little one.”

“I read a verse your – your wife wrote, about your son. Harriet showed me.”

_“His little eyes like William’s shine- How then is great my joy,_ _For while I call this darling mine, I see ‘tis William’s boy.”_

As soon as Victoria began reciting the words she’d committed to memory, words written by a ghost, for a ghost, she saw the surprise and then tears in Melbourne’s eyes. Part of her wanted very much to reach out and comfort him, but Victoria felt she must remain strong. She had a sense she was fighting for her own child as much as herself, although she could not have said who she was fighting or why.

“Tell me truthfully, William. Is there anything left for me and this baby? Or has it all been spoiled for us? Will we always be in the shadow of your past? Will we always be competing with the memory of your wife and child, as you told me at Brocket? Whether because of the happiness you had with her or the sorrow, will everything you do be dictated by the memory of your wife?” Victoria sat up straight, assuming as much dignity as one could in nightclothes on a bed.

“Please…” she kept her voice gentle, neither demanding nor begging, “tell me now. You were my mentor and my friend and I shall never forget. But I will not allow my child to suspect he lives in the shadow of someone else. And…” her voice dropped so it was barely audible. “I do not want that for myself. Rather I content myself with a good and decent man and we live as brother and sister.”

Melbourne was silent for so long Victoria thought perhaps that was her answer. Then he cleared his throat and rose and her heart stood still, refusing to beat. Her hand dropped protectively over her womb, as though to comfort the child there.

He stood beside the bed, head bent, and Victoria could see his expression in the pier glass. She thought she’d never seen that handsome face more tormented. She only became aware she’d been holding her breath when she released it in a gasp.

“Victoria, I am not young. I have lived before and I can’t change that if I wanted to. I wish it was otherwise with my whole being. You deserve a love that’s new and bright and shining. You deserve to discover life with someone at your side who has no ghosts accompanying him. But,” he threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I am what I am. I love you with my whole being. It was – I do not like to compare, but it was not like this with Caro, because I was not who I am now. If that is not enough, you must decide, and tell me and I will not trouble you further.” He looked at her, his shoulders bowed, defeated, Victoria thought. It made her feel strangely empty, as though she’d hoped for something more.

Melbourne cocked his head as though listening to something only he could hear. Then, before Victoria could react, he came around the other side of the bed.

“Hell and damnation, no! It is not all right and it is not up to you alone and I will not go quietly. You are mine and you carry my child and you will damn well deal with the man you have chosen.” He turned her chin up, not violently but neither was his touch as reverently gentle as Victoria was accustomed to. “Look at me, Victoria,” Melbourne demanded in a hoarse, rasping voice.

She raised her chin and met his gaze squarely, challenging.

“I would prefer not to refight this battle repeatedly, but if I must then I will. I can’t imagine what prompted someone to give you scribbling contained in a private letter that was never published, because it was bound to hurt you. Perhaps that was the intent. Women are vicious beasts,” he shook his head. “But you and this baby are mine, and we are new. I’ve been a damned fool before and I will be again, every time I try to prove I won’t be controlled by deciding to go off for a night or a weekend without talking to you. But understand me, ma’am, it is not to spend time with any other women. I’ve had my share – no I will not go into details with you; you see, my experiences in marriage taught me what pitfalls to avoid – and I want only you. Moreover, I am making a promise to you on my honor that there will be no others. That is what this ring signifies. Whatever I may have thought once about the central fallacy of marriage, that is the relationship I want with you and I will damn well fight for it.”

He drew her up so she was on her knees facing him, and pressed his mouth on hers, hard, demanding, forcing his tongue past her lips as his free hand lifted her nightdress. When his fingers touched her, he felt the spark of instant need leap between them and her whole body responded.

“I know you, Victoria, and I love you more than anyone else ever will…more than I ever knew how to love before I met you. I made you mine and nobody else will ever do what I do…” he muttered into her mouth like an incantation, hot, passionate, demanding.

“You are my precious girl, my Gloriana, and I will not let you go.”


	22. Chapter 22

A persistent fly buzzing about the Queen insisted on making her a stopping ground, despite her repeated attempts to swat it away. The Prince Consort laughed and splashed handfuls of water in her direction by way of rendering aid. He was stripped to the waist and stood up to his thighs in the river, angling for fish which seemed determined to elude him. Slightly further downstream, George Von Wettin, similarly attired, was having better luck, ignoring the fiery red of his fair sunburned skin.

The River Lea ran through Brocket Hall estate, and their party had staked out a lovely bank under a stand of overhanging willows. Victoria reclined against William Lamb, who in turn rested his back against a tree. Beside them, one of her ladies-in-waiting, carefully chosen for this weekend jaunt, sat daintily on the blanket spread out for that purpose. Fanny Cowper was Melbourne’s youngest niece, a fresh-faced young woman with her mother’s clear grey eyes, who unblushingly accepted her uncle’s relationship with the Queen she served. Victoria liked her greatly, as much for her calm practical disposition and lack of giddiness as for her discretion.

Beside her a quiet young woman in a plain dimity gown busied herself unpacking the picnic hampers. Victoria’s personal maid, taken into her confidence as a matter of necessity, had offered to serve the expedition rather than cling to the servants’ hierarchy which would put the Queen’s dresser far above such duties.

Marcus Foster, one of Albert’s equerries, likewise was unflappable, discrete and surprisingly resourceful at executing whatever command the Queen might have. She appreciated his impish humor and forthright manner, respectful without excessive subservience.

“William, are you sure there are fish in this river?” Albert complained. Melbourne laughed and shook his head.

“When I was a boy, there were. I’m sure a few carp survive from that time yet – they say the monsters live to a venerable old age.”

“Albert, quit whining! I have a string of fat perch and one fine trout,” Von Wettin taunted his lover.

The Queen had abandoned the layers of petticoat and whalebone hoops which fashion demanded, and likewise left her stays off in the mid-summer heat. She wore a simple high-waisted frock in the fashion of the late ‘90s with a natural silhouette flattering to her small stature. Her pregnancy had recently begun making itself known and rather than discomfort herself and the child by lacing her stays tighter she opted to forgo any constricting garment.

The first morning Miss Skerrett pointed out that her waist had enlarged enough to require accommodation Victoria delightedly ran down the palace corridor in search of Lord M, demanding he see. Only the slightest protuberance was visible, no more than many young ladies who overindulged in sweetmeats routinely carried, but on Victoria’s small frame it was indeed noticeable when she stood and showed him her profile. Melbourne had responded by laying his cheek on her stomach and talking as though the child within might hear.

He touched her now whenever he could – whenever they were in such company as would not be shocked, and could be trusted to keep the confidence of Victoria and Albert’s combined households. He was not of a generation which habitually made a public display of affection for one’s spouse but he found it increasingly natural to lay a hand on the Queen’s shoulder, to touch her hand without purpose.

The Prince Consort set an example in that regard, one which amused the older man. In the privacy of his apartment or the Queen’s Albert hung on his male companions with unabashed affection.

The more reserved young architect permitted the embraces, always glancing about self- consciously, but initiated them. Sometimes when the prince was at his most demonstrative he would catch Melbourne’s eye as if to say, ‘you see how it’s done?’ and always with the coquettish manner he reserved for Victoria’s Lord M.

Victoria’s dark head rested against Melbourne’s chest and his arm supported her, a hand resting casually in her lap. The only reaction he noted was a brief flicker of amusement in his niece’s eyes.

Melbourne felt supremely relaxed, drowsy in the afternoon warmth and content to linger here with the rest, all of them easily young enough to be his own children. In truth he found he no longer dwelled on the matter of age overmuch, at least no more than any man who would never see fifty again. Victoria and the coming child dispelled any worries he had in that regard and if anything, he felt more vital, certainly more present than he ever had in his youth.

Savoring the rare sensation of complete inner peace, Melbourne leaned his head back against the bark of the willow bending its canopy overhead and reflected on the events of the past few days.

The Queen had dismissed, or prorogued, that session of Parliament and this weekend trip to Brocket Hall was her reward. Rather, her reward for accepting with a modicum of good grace the resignation of her Prime Minister and assumption of his duties by Sir Robert Peel.

Their small group had driven down the same evening and would stay until Sunday. Tonight, Emily and Henry Temple would dine with them, bringing along whichever of Melbourne’s nieces and nephews were staying at Panshanger that weekend.

To his beloved sister, Melbourne intended to make no particular announcement but he suspected that she would know nonetheless upon seeing them together. Women had a sixth sense about such things, and fond sisters even more than most. It would be what it was. He knew Emily loved him and had even, however grudgingly, supported Caro at least against the world, if not in the bosom of the family. He expected her to do no less for Victoria. She was no Caro, despite their similarities, and he was not the man he had been. Emily would see that Victoria loved him, and he her, and that Albert was a friend to them both. She would worry, of course she would, thinking of the precedent set by other complacent husbands – Norton and before him, Branden – but in this case it was ludicrous to think the prince was bartering tolerance for pecuniary gain.

Most of all, he trusted Emily to come to know Victoria as he did, her honesty and the rare purity of her spirit, the guileless young Queen whose adoration for him was writ plain on her face. Emily would see she was no flirt, no coquette, no society wife who chose lovers as fashionable accessories. She was his, and he would claim her where and when he could.

He drifted into reverie, dozing in the shade with the smell of clover heavy in the air, and did so with a smile on his face.

The prorogation ceremony entailed the same ancient rituals as opening Parliament, so at least twice a year for the past three, Victoria had observed the occasion with Melbourne at her side as head of government. He had overseen the same ceremony many more times over the years but never, until Victoria ascended the throne, had he felt the sense of majesty and the power of ritual so completely overtake him.

He’d departed first, so that he would be on hand as the Yeomen of the Guard searched the cellars in a not-quite-ceremonial routine, in existence since the days of the Gunpowder Plot. Once it had been merely an excuse to awaken the Prime Minister well before his accustomed hour of rising, but when it was the safety of his Queen, Melbourne alert to every step of the proceeding. Before the Queen departed from Buckingham Palace, the Lord Chamberlain would ritually deliver the hostage to ensure her safe return.

As the Queen slowly processed through crowded London streets amidst throngs of onlookers hoping for a glimpse of their sovereign in her gold State coach the regalia was delivered by separate coaches. The Imperial State Crown, the Cap of Maintenance, two maces and the great Sword of State – this last, the Prime Minister’s to carry – would be delivered to the Lord Chamberlain’s Comptroller.

Victoria rode alone with her Consort. Melbourne knew and accepted with what equanimity he could muster that this was the last ceremony at which he would have any official role. He did not begrudge Albert’s right to be at her side, it would be more difficult, he knew, to watch Peel succeed him in the dignities of office which made the Prime Minister her counterpart in government.

Prince Albert was resplendent in a military uniform, his height and bearing set off to advantage by the chest full of medals and ribbons of rank. Melbourne himself was content to wear a morning suit under his robes of state. In future – well, he thought, let the future take care of itself. Someday, if he lived long enough, he would see his own child take part in the ceremony and that would be honor enough for any man.

Melbourne insisted on being the one to hand Victoria from her coach on arrival, and no man present disputed his right. He genuflected before her, holding the small gloved hand he knew so intimately and squeezing it when their eyes met, before bowing formally to Albert.

They parted at the Robing Room, where Victoria would have the tiara she wore removed, to be replaced the much heavier State crown. Her simple white gown was covered by the robes of state, heavily encrusted with gold and jewels.

When Melbourne saw her again it was to process before her into the Palace of Westminster carrying the Sword of State. He took his place beside her for the last time as she addressed the gathered Lords, asking them to be seated, and bade the Lord Chamberlain send the Usher of the Black Rod to summon the Commons.

Normally the Queen’s speech would be the first and only but by prearrangement the Lord Chancellor, Lord Cottenham, stood before his fellows to read the announcement from the Palace. He notified the noble gentlemen on behalf of His Royal Highness Prince Albert and Her Majesty the Queen, that an heir would arrive before the end of 1840. The chamber erupted in cheers and stamping of feet, interspersed with cries of ‘God save the Queen’ as well as rowdier cheering from the Commons and the visitors’ gallery directed at the Prince Consort.

Melbourne watched her closely, knowing that behind her cool remote visage Victoria had been dreading having to be present for the announcement and was burning with embarrassment. He ducked his head briefly so no one would see his small smile, and then dutifully joined in the applause.

He stepped forward after a few minutes to do his part, introducing the Queen’s Speech. Victoria spoke in the cool, sweet voice Melbourne so admired, in common with every man who heard her speak, thanking the assembly for their labors and formally declared the end of that session of Parliament.

And that was it, they were done. He was done, Melbourne thought, needing only to escort Her Majesty from the chamber, standing beside her as she bowed to both sides of the House of Lords and then walking backwards before her until they were out of sight of the assembly.

Melbourne was standing with his core group of co-conspirators when Victoria and Albert entered the reception hall. Holland, Palmerston, Minto, Auckland, Lansdowne, Russell and Uxbridge for the Whigs and Wellington, Peel, Stanley and Buccleuch for the Tories would implement the orderly transfer of power Melbourne had orchestrated. It was his own party which understandably balked, but the realists among them acknowledged that if things went on as they were only another half year or so would be gained and that without significant legislative advantage, so close were the voting margins. All agreed that the announcement of the Queen’s delicate condition made it desirable to avoid a general election with the attendant disruption that would case.

Prince Albert accepted the congratulations of each minister who approached him, otherwise standing stiff and solemn at his wife’s side as they made their way around the room. As soon as she’d passed the gentlemen with whom Melbourne stood exchanged amused commentary on the Prince Consort’s prowess, satisfied that he had risen to the occasion despite what most considered the open secret of his proclivities. Melbourne contributed nothing to the conversation but made sure he smiled and laughed appreciatively enough to avert any suspicion. Not of the truth, he thought, but rather that he might be affected by this proof of the Queen’s marital consummation. There were those who suspected the depth of his feelings for her but none, he thought, who understood how completely those feelings were returned – or acted upon. And that was as it should be.

The Privy Council met later that same day at Buckingham Palace and it was there Lord Melbourne officially announced his intention to tender his resignation to the Queen. It came as a surprise to only a few, and Charles Greville sat up as though prodded, his eyes going wide with suspicion that he’d been left out of significant negotiations.

Lord Privy Seal, Lord Duncannon, rose ponderously and was the first to formally acknowledge Melbourne’s statement, followed in rapid succession by Lansdowne and Howicke. The announcement passed without undue debate, for none of the seasoned politicians present had thought the government could continue indefinitely despite the Queen’s clear favor.

“And what will you do now, Melbourne?” Greville asked, as Melbourne had anticipated he would. “Keeping your seat? Not retiring to the country to write your memoirs yet I assume?”

“No,” Melbourne drawled, giving a good approximation of long-suffering patience. “I fear not retiring yet. My duty lies here.” He paused and looked carefully around the table, pausing at each pair of eyes, gauging who amongst them might raise an unplanned opposition. “I am resigning my party membership. I will accept a role as senior advisor to the Crown and join this Council in that capacity. Peel will take the reins of government and has acceded the Queen’s request I be accepted as such.”

A hum of voices around the table began and swiftly escalated as voices raised.

“Will the people be expected to add that salary to the ever-growing list of Crown expenses?” Greville asked bluntly. "Your five thousand a year made up from another purse?"

“That is for the new First Lord of the Treasury to determine and the House to approve, or not,” Melbourne said with a shrug, as to a matter of little concern. “If that is all, gentlemen, my last act as Prime Minister will be to adjourn this Council.”

He had sauntered out of the room with a great show of nonchalance, knowing that they would need to vent their concerns and preferring they did so in chambers rather than in their clubs.

**

Albert and George wrestled like puppies, each determined to grapple the other into a headlock, and in the process sprinkled everyone on the ground with the river water that came off them in rivulets. Victoria yelped and sat up with a little shriek, then overbalanced and tumbled back into Melbourne’s arms. Albert threw his long body down beside them.

Victoria took grapes and a chicken breast for herself and made a plate for Melbourne. She gestured towards the repast Miss Skerrett had spread out and smiled at the girl, hanging back away from the party.

“Please, you must join us,” Victoria said, smiling, moving to make room for her. The maid blushed and ducked her head shyly but complied with her mistress.

George began describing daily mishaps at the construction site, and had them all in gales of laughter at the descriptions of every manner of person who offered advice to the pragmatic Mr. Barry and emotional, histrionic Mr. Pugin. Melbourne contributed a few pithy reminiscences of his own, although his Home Secretary and Duncannon, Commissioner of Woods and Forests and nominally overseer of the vast project, drew the most importunate of those seeking to offer their advice and recommendations. When George’s enthusiastic description of Mr. Barry’s raft and the great coffer dam intended to extend usable building ground far out into the Thames grew more obtuse Albert jokingly taunted him that he was losing their attention.

The afternoon passed so pleasantly that all were surprised when a wagon trundled out from the Hall to deliver them back in time to dress for dinner. The ladies were intended to ride back in the wagon with the repacked hampers and George’s string of fresh fish, which would be delivered to the kitchens. Victoria demurred at the last minute, begging to ride pillion with Melbourne. He mounted easily and Victoria was thrown up by her husband to ride astride behind him, her skirts showing a flattering amount of leg. As they began moving easily through the field she wrapped her arms around his middle tighter than mere security would require.

“Why do you seem so happy today, William?” Victoria asked, her voice a caressing lilt.

“’Happy’, ma’am? Is it such a rare occurrence that there must be a reason? A beautiful day spent with a beautiful woman who happens to be mine. Need there be any more reason than that?”

Victoria allowed her hand to drop and she began stroking the long lean muscle of his thigh, to substantial effect.

“No regrets about resigning then? Or…none yet?” She persisted.

“Not at present. In time I’m sure I’ll notice the change but by then I will have found other ways to make myself useful.”

“You’ve made an heir to the throne. I would consider that useful,” Victoria teased.

“Yes, well…I refer to matters without such tangible rewards. I fear I am quite used to being… attended to. I don’t relish the thought of falling idle, no matter how much I might protest that’s what I wish for. Resignation as your Prime Minister was inevitable. Resigning from the Party and knowing I shall never again sit in the House is a more difficult matter to come to terms with.

However, it’s far too lovely a day to dwell on my political career or lack thereof, going forward. Shall we make time to lay down before we must dress for dinner? I could use a nap with something other than timber as a pillow.”

Victoria continued running her fingernails over the fabric of his riding breeches in a long sensual path. But when she spoke, it was regarding the concerns he had voiced.

“Sir Robert will call on me Monday. He could find you a –“

“No,” Melbourne said immediately. “Sweetheart, no. You will not ask Peel to find me a position. I will work something out. Under no circumstances will the Crown intervene. Remember, they allow me to continue as your adviser. Your impartial adviser. Now…” and he changed the subject with his usual wit, so that Victoria was laughing gaily when they rode up to the Hall.

To both their surprise and dismay there was an unfamiliar carriage in the rear courtyard, and each knew instantly who their early callers were.

Emily Temple, Lady Palmerston, came out of the back door and stood waiting to greet her brother. She raised an eyebrow in a gesture Victoria found disapproving, and she quickly tugged down the fabric of her skirts.

A groom ran up with a mounting block and extended his hand to the Queen, with the lack of obsequiousness Victoria found reassuring in Melbourne’s Brocket Hall servants. They were old family retainers, the younger ones born and raised in service to the Lambs, and accepted her out of affection for their master.

Melbourne wondered how it would go, thinking regretfully that Victoria would feel at a disadvantage. He watched with admiration as she showed no trace of the shyness and insecurity she’d confessed to him privately, extending her hand to greet Lady Palmerston with a composed smile. He knew better than to intervene between the women in his life and would have to depend entirely on Victoria suppressing her quick temper and the chilly remoteness behind which she so often hid. They would, after all, be linked through him and the child, a fact which sooner or later his sister would understand. For now, she would have to content herself by accepting the love and pride her brother had in the young woman beside him, see beyond the Queen to his Victoria.

Emily, deprived of her assumed advantage, had no choice save curtsy to her sovereign and accept the hand offered. Melbourne was amused at the way in which his sister stood, nonplussed, unsure how to reassert the authority of an older sister standing in the courtyard of her family home. ‘Welcome to Brocket Hall’ would hardly be apropos. She avoided the issue by turning to greet her brother. Melbourne swung his leg over the horse and dismounted elegantly, then leaned to kiss his sister’s cheek.

“I don’t have to introduce you. The two most important ladies in my life. Victoria, Emily. There,” he showed his most charming smile and drew them both close with an arm around each. “The formalities are done.”

Victoria knew Emily since she was Lady Cowper, of course. She and Lord Palmerston had had to request permission from the Queen to marry just the previous year and their history was quite scandalous, if romantic, a thirty-year affair and two or three children together, yet only free to wed when Lord Cowper finally died. Victoria had no animosity toward Melbourne’s sister, and she quite liked Palmerston, but her normal insecurity was exacerbated by a sense that the older woman viewed her connection to William – even if she didn’t understand the full extent of it – with disapproval. And Victoria, as a woman and as a Queen, did not readily tolerate censure.

She looked at Lady Palmerston brightly and chuckled a little. “I’m quite at a loss, William, unsure which of us plays hostess and invites the other inside. Perhaps you should do the honors?” And she laid her hand on his arm with a small proprietary smile at the exact moment Lady Palmerston did the same.


	23. Chapter 23

The Queen slipped into the bedchamber she’d been given and as soon as the door was closed firmly at her back, inhaled deeply. Her skin had pinked from a day in the sun, and where she should have been pleasantly tired from the fresh air, instead she was simultaneously energized and enervated.

She wished her lady’s maid was at hand, but surmised the girl was busy unloading picnic supplies. Hoping the ever-efficient, and generally prescient, Miss Skerrett would have already given orders for water to be brought for a bath, Victoria determined she would begin the process of changing for dinner. She sat on the bed and clumsily unlaced her low kid boots, then went to the closet and examined the unsatisfactorily small selection of gowns they’d packed.

“Where did you run off to?” Victoria turned with a start and saw Melbourne behind her. He was relaxed, she thought, and appeared quite the same. Did you expect she would have already begun haranguing him? Victoria asked herself waspishly. Nonetheless she blushed, caught.

“I didn’t run off. I am quite a mess and wished to change into something more suitable for dinner,” she responded defensively.

“You look quite charming, ma’am, and we are after all in the country. However, you are right of course. Em is already setting the kitchen in a tizzy, redoing the menus, insisting so few courses as were planned are not at all suitable for entertaining royalty. She will have them set up the formal dining room.” Melbourne made a little shrug. “Which means we have time to rest before dinner after all. Come. Lay down with me.”

He had worn no coat; his shirt sleeves were rolled nearly to the elbows and he still had on his riding boots and breeches. Victoria noticed that the golden hue of his sun-burnished skin only made him more handsome, and went to him as if drawn by a magnet.

“We should not…be in here alone. It will look—” Her actions belying her cautious words, Victoria leaned against him and put her arms around his waist.

“It will look as though we wish to rest before dinner?” Melbourne huffed a little laugh. “I don’t know about you but I find all that fresh air and sunshine have tired me more than the hot air of the noble lords of the House.”

He threw himself onto the bed like a boy, sprawling out and crossing arms behind his head. “Pull my boots off, wench,” he said teasingly.

Victoria obediently began tugging at the leather until he stopped her and finished the task. “Come. I have better use for those hands,” he drew her up beside him.

“We shouldn’t be in here alone,” Victoria repeated, more urgently. “What will Lady Palmerston think? She does not approve of me already, I think.”

“’Approve of you’? You are the Queen. Lady Palmerston does not presume to approve or disapprove of her sovereign.” He took hold of her chin and turned her face up.

“Are you feeling anxious about Emily being present and knowing – about us? I thought you wanted me to make it clear that we are far more than Prime Minister – retired minister – and Queen.” Victoria marveled that he could sound so sanguine.

“I want her to approve. Or perhaps I should say, I want her to be happy for you. For us. Is that too much to hope for?”

“Sweetheart, I love my sister but don’t give a fig what her opinion is of my personal life. I didn’t when I was less than proud of it, and I don’t now that I am exceedingly proud.” He laid his hand on the very small rounding protrusion below her navel. “And for the sake of our little prince or princess, I expect she will be very happy. She has to know how much this chance to be a father means to me.”

“How do you bear it when my family is so awful to you? Uncle Leopold and Mama? That dreadful Baron Stockmar Leopold has as his proxy to spy on us and supplant your influence with us?”

Melbourne continued to be supremely relaxed, even indifferent, and Victoria drew confidence from him as she always did. He appeared to consider her question carefully.

“’Bear it’? Your uncle Leopold does not move me. He is – I will speak no ill of him, for I know he’s been a father to you, but oddly I don’t personalize his dislike, for I believe it’s all political and part of the game of thrones he plays at. Your mother – I confess, it does matter to me what she thinks. I strive to please her as much as I can and hope someday she can accept me.”

“Mama?” Victoria’s surprise was evident. “Why does it matter to you what Mama thinks of you? Leopold is more…more strategic, and that makes him more of a threat, I should think. Mama has no power, and no political interest or sense.”

“Ah, but she is your mother, and will be the grandmother of our child. And she loves you dearly, Victoria. She has loved and cossetted you your whole life and it cannot be easy seeing a man older than she is, no model husband and no advantageous marriage, steal your heart.”

“Mama has not cared for me so well,” Victoria replied darkly.

“Sweetheart, unless there is much you haven’t told me, she has. Granted, your mother did not choose her companion wisely and did not keep him in line where she should have, but I believe that was through feminine weakness and the need to place all her dependence on a man, rather than any lack of affection for you.”

“She wrote to you and said that I wished her to be my Regent,” Victoria reminded him.

“Yes, she did. Prompted by Conroy, no doubt. And that was very foolish, as is much she does, very clumsily indeed, such as her ongoing conflict with the King. But she does love you, make no doubt, and love is not so easy to come by that one can easily discard it just because we don’t agree with someone’s behavior. Besides,” he kissed her forehead tenderly, “she will be our little one’s only grandmother, and I think she may rise to the occasion admirably. She might find it far easier than being left to raise a future Queen alone.”

“I want your sister to think well of me as – as a sister-in-law, not as the Queen. Is that so very misguided?”

“Not at all. You are my girl, my special, darling girl whom I love desperately, and because she loves me she will learn to love you. If you want my advice on how to go on ---?”

“Yes, please. What should I say? How should I act?”

“If I tell you to just be yourself I suspect that will not be helpful,” Melbourne said, thinking aloud. “Dare I ask you to be around her just as you are around me, at least insofar as you can when others are present? We are much alike. But Victoria,” he shifted position so their faces aligned, lips very close to touching. “You are my girl, my wife, my darling, and that is not affected one whit by how you and Emily get on. I wish you could be friends, for your sake, because you and this child need trusted allies who can be depended on to always be loyal, and Em will be that, I assure you. She despised Caro, called her ‘the little beast’ in the family, but allowed no one outside it to slight her. And you and our child will be Emily’s family, and Fred’s too.”

He laid his lips on hers and kissed her softly, almost chastely, holding his hand on her cheek. Victoria sighed and moved even closer, so their bodies touched. He moved just enough to kiss her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her chin. He nibbled with exquisite gentleness on the delicate shell of her ear. Victoria slid her hand inside the open front of his white shirt, laying her palm on his chest and fingering the black hair which grew there.

They were interrupted by a discreet tap on the door. Victoria moved away with a start, making Melbourne smile indulgently. She called out and was answered by the low voice of her dresser, asking whether Her Majesty wished to bathe. Victoria hesitated, about to send her away, but Melbourne swung his legs to the floor.

“I will leave you now,” he said, “but return tonight, if I may?” He was still seated on the side of the bed, pulling his boots back on, and Victoria knelt behind him. She finger-combed his soft dark hair, admiring the bright silver strands among the curls, marveling that she had the right to do what she’d so long imagined, each time she admired him. He reached for her hand and held it out so they could both see the ring which sparkled on her right hand.

“It may be on the wrong hand, but the meaning is clear. Mrs. Melbourne,” he said, kissing her fingers.

**

Victoria luxuriated in a long soak, liking the feel of the silky water softened with scented oil. Her maid lathered and rinsed her long dark hair and pressed the moisture out with a succession of towels before combing the tangles out. Together they studied her gowns and Victoria finally chose a soft shell-pink, with the becoming off-the-shoulder neckline she favored to elongate her neck and because Lord M had once told her she had exceptionally fine shoulders. She particularly remembered, because he’d uttered it long before she understood her feelings for him were reciprocated and so it had thrilled her he would notice such a personal attribute. She accepted only modest pearl ear drops and matching necklace, and the lovely flowers which Skerrett had deftly fasted to her hair.

“Oh, this is all wrong…I look too insipid…what about the red gown, and diamonds?” Victoria said plaintively, studying her reflection in the mirror critically.

“You look very lovely, ma’am,” her maid offered helpfully.

“You look fine, wife,” Albert said from the doorway, already dressed for dinner, his own companion standing nervously by his side. Victoria liked the quiet, serious young architect well enough, but she often wondered whether he was as committed to their relationship – and a lifestyle few accepted in his middle-class family of origin – as her husband was.

“Please, gentlemen, come in,” Victoria said, showing Mr. Von Wettin a particularly warm smile. Albert, once the most awkward and socially gauche of young men, had emerged from adolescent cocoon into self-assurance, remote to the point of chill hauteur when it served him, loose and playful in private. Victoria looked up at him appealingly for a verdict on her appearance.

“You look fine, Victoria. Why the fuss? You could wear a horse blanket and Lord Melbourne would consider you beautiful.”

“How reassuring,” Victoria said drily, taking his arm and his companion’s both. She permitted both gentlemen to escort her into dinner, one on each arm, to spare George the awkwardness of walking in unaccompanied.

Emily had mustered the servants and the formal dining room sparkled with newly-polished fine crystal and gold-rimmed china. Several large floral arrangements were set down the center row, between many-armed candelabra. It was a beautiful display, indeed fit for one of the royal palaces, and Victoria found she missed the more intimate, homely informality of her other Brocket Hall stays.

As hostess, Lady Palmerston did her duties graciously. She was a notable society hostess, one of the patronesses of Almack’s and the one most commonly considered warm and approachable, with a kind heart. Victoria didn’t know why she sensed the older woman disapproved of her, or if not precisely ‘disapproved’ then did not entirely rejoice in her beloved brother’s love for her. That in turn raised Victoria’s ire on both counts, something she was determined to overcome for his sake.

Lord Palmerston had ridden down from London especially for this dinner, having stayed a final day to finish some undetermined business. He was an old friend, from Victoria’s earliest days on the throne, and she considered him both charming and well-disposed to her, an opinion only reinforced by his genuine pleasure at seeing her once again. They had naturally seen less of each other as the Queen’s relationship to her Prime Minister solidified and became something more, and Victoria felt she had at least one ally. She hoped most fervently he would positively influence his wife.

Conversation was sparkling, scintillating, as would be expected from such vaunted society elites, at home in the most urbane drawing rooms. Victoria enjoyed listening far more than participating - she felt still like a poorly-educated child around people such as this – but the presence of her husband reassured her. Albert never felt his lack of repartee and viewed frivolity with an air of only slightly bemused tolerance, but his loyalty towards his little cousin meant that he frequently came to her rescue when she was tongue-tied. Melbourne’s gaze caught Victoria’s often enough that she was warmed and reassured, while he avoided overtly patronizing her, and Lord Palmerston flirted most charmingly, as though to the adolescent daughter of some friend.

When the meal ended Victoria was startled by Lady Palmerston’s invitation to join her in the drawing room and leave the gentlemen to their port. Victoria’s eyes went instinctively to Melbourne; his own green-eyed gaze held such confidence in her that she lifted her chin and assumed a graceful dignity which would carry her through.

“So…Your Majesty…” Victoria heard the slightest hesitation in the woman’s voice and intuited what her response should be.

“Please…in private..you may call me Victoria,” she answered, her own tone deliberately modest, although not entirely devoid of the innate dignity which was her birthright. I am the Queen, she thought, and we can not entirely forget that. She sensed that her message had been conveyed and received.

“I hope I won’t give offense by speaking honestly, so long as it is only the two of us.” Victoria fought the urge to swallow hard. She had faced down the French ambassador in a rage, John Conroy livid with anger and her uncle Cumberland’s ill-disguised contempt; surely, she would not be expected to wilt in a country drawing room?

“Certainly, honesty is to be admired,” she responded civilly, giving no further opening. Something in the other woman’s beautiful even features, her cool calm gaze, was so entirely reminiscent of Melbourne’s loved visage she could not be entirely immune.

“You have grown close to my brother, and he to you,” Lady Palmerston continued. “He has served you well and faithfully these past three years.”

Victoria turned to examine the spine of a book left open on a table. “He is a fine minister. The country has been fortunate in having his services, and certainly the Crown has also.”

“Ma’am…Victoria…with all due respect, I believe the feeling between William and you is more than sovereign and minister.”

“Certainly, Lord Melbourne is my friend, I think.” Victoria was aware that the other woman was growing somewhat irritated by the direction of the conversation. You wanted her to know, Victoria thought, why are you making it so difficult? She could only surmise her own actions were based on a reluctance to be judged and found wanting. Let her commit herself first, Victoria decided.

“You’re aware of my brother’s past, of course. Everyone is,” Lady Palmerston’s voice left no doubt  as to what she referenced.

“His first marriage was not a happy one. In the beginning he thought it was, but my mother and I could see that his wife was not constant and would not make him happy. And Augustus, their son, was deeply flawed. His brain disease, whatever it was, only grew more severe as he matured physically, so that he was a recalcitrant, unstable little boy in a grown man’s body. And yet William never abandoned him, never confined him to an institution. And then he died. He was nearly thirty then, almost a decade older than you are now, ma’am. He lay on the couch while William worked at his desk, and then suddenly rose up and spoke quite lucidly, as he had never done before, as a normal man might, asking to have some letters franked.  William grieved for his wife when she died – oh, how he cried! – and he grieved for his son. By then, when each of them died, he had found consolation elsewhere. And that too ended unhappily. In both cases, very publicly. Lady Branden and Mrs. Norton –“ she spat the names, as if they tasted bad, which indeed they should, Victoria thought angrily. “and so poor William had to endure more humiliation. My brother is the most private of men. He never sought fame, wanted only to live his life quietly out of the public eye, but that was not to be. It took an essential aversion to notoriety and turned it into a horror.”

Lady Palmerston, Victoria saw, was quite affected, her eyes reddening, her color heightened. She turned away and found for a flagon of wine, chilling on ice. Pouring for herself, she’d already drank before she remembered herself and offered Victoria a glass.

“I am aware of these things, Lady Palmerston. I am so sorry a man as fine as Lord Melbourne endured them. Nobody deserves such unhappiness, but he is the finest of men and deserves everything good.”

As if the Queen had not spoken at all, Lady Palmerston continued where she’d left off.

“The scandal of his wife and the poet, and then that awful Glenarvon rehashing the entire thing. Writing about us – about my mother, myself, William – in poorly disguised characters, enraging all of society by her slanders. Everyone expected my brother to stop her, and if he could not, then divorce her and through her on the slim mercies of those who she offended. He would not. And the trials. Obscene tidbits and scurrilous lies, humiliating descriptions of intimate acts and stains on clothing which would offend the most hardened of men, which William never was.”

Lady Palmerston’s voice had hardened. She distanced herself from Victoria before raising her head and staring directly at her.

“Ma’am, I believe you care for my brother. Imagine if you will the public interest, the awful cartoons, the whispers, the laughter over the wife of an impoverished barrister, an Irish clergyman – nobodies. Can you then imagine the scandal if instead of a nobody…it was a Queen?”

Victoria’s heart was beating so hard she thought it might be visible under her gown. She wanted badly to drag in a gasping breath, to sob and turn away, to let the tears threatening to fill her eyes spill down unhindered. Instead she mustered all her considerable will and lifted her own eyes.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Lady Palmerston. That I would do anything to protect him from further unhappiness? I would. That I hope and pray he never endures another moment of suffering? I do, whole-heartedly. You were right when you said I care for your brother. I do, very much. But I think what you’re really asking is something best addressed to him.”

“Do you understand what I’m asking of you?” Lady Palmerston studied the Queen, her gaze traveling from the young face to her figure. “Is it too late?”

Despite her will, Victoria blushed then, hoping the color she’d gained in the sun hid it. “Our – situation is different, I think, than those others you talked about. My husband is no dissatisfied bishop or impoverished barrister. And he has – his own path, one which ensures discretion as surely as his affection for me does. My husband is my cousin, and like a brother. He loves me as a brother would love his dear sister, as William loves you.” She stopped then, unwilling to betray Albert by alluding to more. His secret was not hers, and she would respect it.

Lady Palmerston shrugged, as though giving up as futile any further effort.

“Very well, ma’am. Then love him. That’s all I can ask – beg. Love William as he deserves to be loved. He has suffered so very much for love; he deserves happiness out of it more than any man I know.”

Victoria felt the tears well up then and spill over her lashes. She turned away, angry at her own weakness, at allowing her most deeply personal emotions to show before an unsympathetic audience.

Just then the gentlemen came in. Instinctively eager to get away until she could compose herself, Victoria walked quickly to the French doors and turned the handle, seeking to step out onto the lawn. The door would not budge until a man’s hand reached over her shoulder and turned it sharply. She walked outside without looking up.

“May I join you, ma’am?” She recognized the voice, the careful accented English. “It grows quite stuffy inside, and the night is so fine and clear.”

Her husband’s companion, only a few inches taller than she was, stood behind Victoria at a respectful distance.

“Yes, Mr. Van Wettin, it is lovely out here.”

They remained silent for a few minutes, Victoria grateful for the respite. Then he began in a quiet voice to discuss inconsequentials, design details of the Palladian structure, landscape features of note, a garden folly just visible near the pond. Victoria found his prosing easy to listen to without attending, and appreciated his sensitivity in putting her at ease. Her breathing gradually slowed, and the tight band constricting her heart eased. He walked forward to stand beside her, pointing out a ramshackle building across the river, a quaint cowshed just visible on a rise, and Victoria felt reassured by his undemanding presence.

Although there was no definable sound to announce the arrival of a third person, Victoria knew when Melbourne had joined them. He listened quietly until Von Wettin allowed his narrative to wind down. When the young man excused himself, Melbourne took his place at Victoria’s side. She felt him there, felt that intangible spark which had always jumped between them, felt herself drawn to him inexorably, and she wondered whether their union had ever been a choice or if some things were preordained, beyond the ability of mortals to control.

She knew she would never hurt this man, could never hurt him, would do anything to spare him…but wouldn’t withholding herself from him, denying their bond and sending him away, have hurt him far worse than even what his sister called the horrors of public scandal? Victoria realized she could never know, could never even objectively consider the question fairly. They simply were, in a way far outside her ability to rationalize.

He touched her arm gently and when she raised her eyes to his she saw the questioning concern there. Victoria smiled brightly.

“It is so lovely out here. I love your Brocket Hall! I wish we could walk down to the river, just the two of us. But…that would be rude. Shall we join the others?”

Victoria saw the relief in his expression. When he extended his arm to escort her in Victoria impulsively lifted his hand to her lips.

“I love you so much!” She said, unable to resist, and saw the love and wonder in his face. “I think if we partake of perhaps a half hour of conversation you could plead your delicate condition to retire early, and I could join you soon after without comment, Mrs. Melbourne.”

Victoria permitted herself to sway against him as they walked the few yards back to the drawing room. She would be content to sit politely and engage in social banter, with the promise of this man holding her later.


	24. Chapter 24

Lord Melbourne strolled down St. James in the slanted orange rays of a late summer sunset. London was experiencing a sweltering atypical summer. Heat and humidity had tightened his overlong loose curls. Melbourne smiled to himself, thinking how vociferously Victoria protested each time he expressed a longing for the barber’s shears. Short hair is so much more comfortable did not stand a chance against But your hair is so beautiful! And Long hair makes you even more handsome, Lord M!

He knew himself to be just the sort of foolishly besotted older man in love with a much-younger woman that he would have ridiculed most harshly in his youth. And it was glorious. Risky, exhilarating and sublime. That she was the Queen added a whole other level of unimaginable complexity. And yet – and yet – how could it have gone any other way? He had tried, Lord knows he had tried, and nearly broken both their hearts in the process but if anything on earth was divinely inspired by whichever deity one espoused, it was the unalterable, irrevocable pull that drew them together. Melbourne and Victoria. The Prime Minister and the Queen. Could there, would there ever be a more unlikely pairing?

Melbourne, when he contemplated the distant future, cared no more for fame than he had when he first entered politics. He would like to think that he’d made some contributions to the welfare of the country, if only by maintaining a firm, steady hand on the wheel during a time of radical change. But as contradictory as the two notions were, as little as he would ever want scandal attached to her name, it caused him no little twinge to think that future generations, including that of his own coming child, would never know of the great love between them.

Lost in reverie, Melbourne didn’t notice the carriage pull up close beside him until his name was called a second time. He looked up, startled, to see a veiled woman leaning out the window.

With a sinking feeling, Melbourne recognized the handsome features behind the veil.

“Caroline,” he acknowledged neutrally, not stepping closer to the side of the carriage than he had to be heard.

“William. Where are you bound? Can I take you up? The heat is too oppressive for walking.” Caroline Norton was as changeable as she was volatile. Now there was none of the passion or strong emotion in her voice he had endured at their last encounter, merely a pleasant familiarity. Still, he wanted none of it.

“Merely to Brooks’ and I believe I am nearly there. No need to ride, thank you.” He turned slightly, just enough to convey his intention to continue.

“How have you been, William? It’s been months since I heard anything. You have been quite reclusive this summer.”

“I’ve been fine, I thank you. Keeping busy…” he allowed the sentence to trail off vaguely, determined to retreat from her casually confiding air.

“And Her Majesty is well? Our heir apparent is not keeping her too confined, I hope? It would not be good to avoid all exercise. I’ve had three so I know how hard it can be to find the energy to stay active, and such a small person will put on weight easily. Germans too, so the poor thing is twice cursed.” Melbourne merely inclined his head with a quizzical look.

“That is such a purely feminine thing to say, Caroline. So average. I’ll wager every woman alive has said something similarly catty about a rival. I expected more creativity from you.”

She laughed easily, a hearty genuine sound, and for the briefest of moments Melbourne recalled their easy discourse in the past and why he’d found her so captivating. Caroline Norton was, if nothing else, a man’s woman and knew instinctively how to make herself agreeable without pandering.

“Well, then, I wish you well of it. And pray extend my felicitations to Her Majesty when next you see her. I do so hope for an invitation to court. I feel I’ve been very patient.”

Without waiting for a response, the woman told her coachman to drive on. When they were well on their way Melbourne saw her throw back her veil and lean out the window, raising her hand in a smile salute.

**

The dim interior of his club was pleasantly cool, protected from the outside by thick stone walls and dark paneled walls which never saw the light of day. In the few minutes it took his eyes to adjust, Melbourne heard his name called out several times.

The gentlemen’s club had been designed by Henry Holland in the same style as his earlier country houses, a venerable Palladian construction providing a congenial, elite setting to wine, dine, gamble and above all facilitate the social congress by which the country was governed and society ruled.

As a generational Whig, no Lamb would have crossed the threshold of White’s; Brooks and the Reform Club were where William knew he would find congenial company and those political cronies he considered personal friends. The friends of his youth prided themselves on besting one another at esoteric philosophy and amusingly recherché discussion and William had excelled at both, as well as a charmingly quaint, whimsical manner which took nothing very seriously. As his generation faded, so did the elegant, essentially good-natured debauchery which shaped, and was shaped by, the men and women who defined it.

On those increasingly common occasions Melbourne rued the changes he saw in society – not something he appreciated in himself, preferring to only observe with amused detachment – it was the gradual fading of the wit and fashionable graces of his youth he regretted most. When the prince consort clamored for mentorship, Melbourne thought he could do the young man no greater favor than to rid him of his essentially sober, bourgeois outlook. Odd that a young man whose very nature led him outside those sober boundaries should so despise levity and individuality in every other way.

“Melbourne, here…sit with us. We just returned to town. How the devil will we get on, I was saying, without Melbourne at the helm? Will we all have to buckle down and follow Peel’s evangelical zeal? The man’s a social reformer in the making. The Tories have themselves a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Melbourne greeted John Russell, who had risen to greet him with effusive good cheer, privately thinking there was little to choose from between Russell and Peel except which side of the aisle they sat on. Nonetheless, he smiled and accepted the seat proffered, seeing Minto at the table and Holland’s familiar cane propped against a chair.

“Now, John – you can’t say you were surprised,” Minto chided. “Had we let matters drag on it would have come to a vote of no confidence and a general election by year’s end.”

“Just when the Queen would be confined, one expects,” Holland offered. “And least appreciative of the disruption.”

“Losing the only Prime Minister she’s ever had must have been hard on her as it is. Was she prepared, Melbourne?” Russell asked, and Melbourne heard that peculiar tone common to those prodding for the insider’s privileged information he was assumed to have. He shrugged and lifted his brows gently, maintaining a genial detachment.

“Her little Majesty knew that no ministry lasts forever. And now she has the esteemed Lord Melbourne at her side as adviser and confidante, so nothing’s really changed for her.”

“Except she must learn to like Peel?” Russell shot back, and every man laughed heartily at the prospect.

“How is Her Majesty, Melbourne? We hear nothing and she does not go out into society much. Like her uncle in that regard.” Henry Holland spoke. One of Melbourne’s oldest friends, and arguably the man whose opinion he cared most for, Holland was a calm wise presence with none of his wife’s sharp tongue and sharper wit but instead a vast understanding of the people and politics of his time.

“Perhaps, Henry, Her Majesty does not go out into society much because she is not invited,” Melbourne murmured sweetly. “She is cheered by the people, but our kind does not much take to royalty, do they?”

His quiet comment went unnoticed by most of those at the enlarged table; only Holland spared him a quick sharp look.

Talk turned to the coming changes in government, and the means by which the party could ally itself with those on the far Left whose support was needed, and those Irish nationalists who would barter support in the House for unmanageable demands.

Melbourne found that he only had to slightly temper his opinions as he tried on his new role; neutrality and a careful lack of overt commitment came naturally to him as he listened carefully to all sides of an argument both present and future. If a life in politics had taught him anything, it was that nothing was static; any man who never altered an opinion in response to changing circumstances was a pig-headed fool, and steadfast refusal to consider more than one argument was folly.

Russell prodded more firmly than was perhaps seemly, in his attempt to gauge how much support he would have in the Palace as he aligned his resources for a run for the top post in a year or two. He incurred one of Melbourne’s few overtly censorious remarks in response to his offhanded comment that he supposed the Queen would think what Melbourne encouraged her to think.

“You misjudge the matter if you imagine the Queen to be led by any man, Johnny. She is a highly intelligent young woman whose views are shaped by her own beliefs.”

“You’ve been at her side since she gained the Throne, Melbourne,” George Villiers, Lord Clarendon, observed. “I think we must accept your opinion on the matter. No one knows her better, no matter what that brother-in-law of yours claims.”

“Why?” Melbourne chuckled. “What does he say?”

“That he was an early favorite and could regain her favor if he made the attempt,” Villiers replied. “I heard it from him only yesterday. He was boasting that with your resignation the balance of power would swing from one of moderation in our dealings with France, to a harsher approach. It would need only a nudge in our Queen’s ear and the eagerness of Peel to placate her.”

Melbourne chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Does he really? I wouldn’t bet on it, any more than I would bet on my chances, or your own, of persuading the Queen to any position without a sound argument and ready answers when she challenges you. If I flatter myself I have taught Her Majesty anything, it is only to consider all sides of an argument. Her will is her own and I warn you all now, it is considerable.”

“Not even you can sway her?” Holland looked at Melbourne skeptically. “I think you underestimate yourself, William.” Melbourne turned to look at his old friend squarely and was startled by how ill the man looked. Almost diminished, he thought with some dismay.

“And what about the Prince Consort? A new bridegroom generally exerts a great deal of influence, especially if the wedded state is satisfactory and the marriage bed – er – fertile, which it certainly seems to be.” Clarendon was, perhaps, not as privy to the whispers as some of the more worldly among them, but he saw the snickering glances exchanged, heard a few sotto voce comments.

“There’s a rumor you might be able to put to rest, Melbourne. Surely no love lost between you and Leopold’s puppet. It’s said that young man might not appreciate the charms of his own marriage bed as much as he does that of some of his hangers-on. Is he a confirmed Sodomite? He’s seen in some of the clubs on the distaff side of the Square after hours, where not all the dancers have what you’d expect to find under their skirts.” Russell, always Johnny Russell, so eager to hear his own voice he would casually utter the unspeakable.

“Johnny, perhaps that’s a subject you would know more about than I. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the clubs you speak of. Our Queen is in an interesting condition and the country will have its heir before years’ end. That’s as far as I speculate on the matter.”

“I think we need not fear for Her Majesty’s happiness. She seems content since her marriage, and I for one do not wish to speculate further in that direction. Whatever else our Prince Consort gets up to, he’s done his job for the country and deserves our gratitude for pushing Cumberland that much farther down the line of succession.” Melbourne looked up at the words and saw his brother-in-law, Henry Temple, Viscount Palmerston, pull a chair over from a far table, not waiting for one of the hovering servers to do so. “And on that score, let’s crack a fresh bottle and toast Her Majesty and our anticipated Prince of Wales.” Always one to dominate the space he occupied, Palmerston raised a finger and gave orders to the hovering waitstaff for champagne to be brought.

Assuming the role of host, he poured liberal portions for all and raised his own glass. “To Her Majesty and the delivery of a healthy male child. A healthy child of any gender would serve, but it eases the way if that first child is a prince.”

Now a dozen at table, they raised their glasses and saluted the Queen in unison, Melbourne joining in toasting his own child, if they only knew.

“We outgrow our space, gentlemen. Who’s dining? I’ll bespeak us a private dining room. Especially since the course of this conversation is probably heading where it should not, in this more public space.” Melbourne left the table and spoke to the maître d'hôtel. As his fellows proceeded into the private dining space Melbourne had commandeered he hung back briefly, accosting Henry, Lord Holland.

“Are you quite well, Henry?” Melbourne questioned, vaguely uncomfortable at the personal nature of his query but desirous of offering support where it was needed.

“No, William, I can’t say I am.” They spoke just a few more minutes, enough for Melbourne to assess his friend’s decline and assure him of his allegiance.

“Elizabeth,” Lord Holland said poignantly. Melbourne looked at him questioningly. “Elizabeth would grievously miss me, but she would also mourn the loss of her social life, the salons we host, her role on center stage bringing together wits and artists and the up-and-coming. You know who would take her place as the premier hostess of literary and political salons and that would wound my wife deeply, although she would never say it. To you she might, if you were on hand to support her and lend her countenance. You’ve been a friend to us a long time.”

“Henry, you aren’t…. suggesting that if you were to…” Holland merely nodded wearily. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, as much as I esteem both you and Elizabeth.”

“Good God, man, you need not have scruples on my account. I’m the one trying to provide for her well-being, should anything happen to me.”

“Well, old friend, that is out of the question. For many reasons, my friendship with you only one of them. But I think Elizabeth need never fear her loss of standing. Her salons, the dinners at Holland House, are mainstays of social life in London. Diplomacy, the business of governing, as well as every artist and writer she – you both – patronize, could never bear the loss of Holland House. That she will always have my friendship goes without saying.”

“Very well. Then Elizabeth’s suspicions are true? I doubted her, which was a foolishness since she’s never been wrong about such things. In which case, I can ask you my second favor, friend to friend, man to man. Can you persuade your little Vicky to receive her? It doesn’t have to be a formal affair – afternoon tea, a drawing room – she need not spend much time in my wife’s company if she is as straight-laced as we hear but –“

“Nonsense, Henry. Victoria – Her Majesty – is a delightful, intelligent young woman and has been much misjudged by your crowd. She would happily receive Elizabeth, as a kindness to one of my oldest friends but also because she’s heard much about the life of the Holland House set and feels her exclusion from your circles as keenly as Elizabeth feels hers from Court.”

Lord Holland fell suddenly silent, peering intently at Lord Melbourne. As if blinded by sudden realization, his rheumy eyes blinked slowly. “Ahhhh….” He whispered. “It is not the Norton woman who prompts you to dismiss the idea of my Elizabeth out of hand.” He grinned slyly as Melbourne merely waited.

“So tell me, William – I’ll take it to my grave and that won’t be a long trip – is it the girl? Her? As the pamphleteers once alleged and we all denied?” Melbourne began to demur and saw the youthful light in Holland’s eyes, the invigorated color in his face. So instead he permitted just a glimpse of the pride he felt to show. He saw the answering grin as understanding of his acknowledgment. Holland’s hand made a sloping gesture over his own midsection.

Again, Melbourne only gazed mildly at him. The older man rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Elizabeth, my boy. Only Elizabeth? She’s known you as long as I have and you’ve fallen asleep in her drawing room more nights than I can count. She stood your friend during those dark days and never forgave herself for patronizing the poet and introducing him to your Caroline. She deserves to know your happiness.” Melbourne lifted his shoulders ever so slightly, in the merest semblance of a shrug, and stepped back, gesturing for Holland to precede him into the dining room.

**

Sometime well after midnight a discreet coach, uncrested, delivered its passenger to one of the side entrances of Buckingham House, less public and used by the royal inhabitants and those few extended family members who resided within.

Melbourne ran lightly up the stairs, feeling fine, having emptied a number of bottles of champagne over a lingering dinner and engaging in just the sort of exhilarating conversation he enjoyed with the most brilliant minds of his generation.

He strolled down the wide gleaming black marble corridors and made his way to the end of the block of apartments seemingly most distant from the family wing. His own door was farthest from the intersecting paths at the top of the main staircase. When he let himself in he was surprised to see Albert waiting for him, sprawled easily on the leather sofa in the small sitting room.

“Your Highness…to what do I owe this honor?” Melbourne drawled., loosening his cravat and struggling to pull of his closely tailored black coat. The younger man leapt up and performed a valet’s service, drawing off the coat and brushing it well before arranging it precisely on a hanger. “Is anything amiss?”

“No, William – may I offer you your own brandy? I’ve taken a glass while I waited.” “I’ve had quite enough tonight. I only want my bed. How may I help you?”

“Your bed, William?” Albert smiled wolfishly, then laughed. “At any rate…we can talk tomorrow if you prefer. I am bored.”

“Bored?” Melbourne repeated, not wanting his uncommonly ebullient mood to dissipate.

“Yes, bored. I have explored corners of your city you have never seen, and I am enjoying myself tremendously. Yet, I am bored and wish occupation. I would like to start hosting the salons I discussed with you earlier. Invite the brightest minds in science, technology. Inventors, writers, yes, entertainers too – for conversation and to facilitate connections. To introduce those needing a patron to fund their endeavors to those who have an excess of capital and could be persuaded to part with it.”

Melbourne saw the bright, animated expression on Albert’s habitually solemn face, and relented.

“I think we can explore that idea. You wish my ideas on who to invite? You can think about what part you would like me to play and I’ll be happy to do what I can, but perhaps…tomorrow?” Melbourne tilted his head towards the bedchamber. “Tonight, I would like very much to say goodnight.”

“Very well, tomorrow. After breakfast? You will not ride out for town before we can talk? Or I could come with you. I would like very much to dine with you at one of your clubs, and have you introduce me as your friend. Being the Prince Consort is a handicap rather than an advantage in social interaction. On the other hand, being a friend of Viscount Melbourne will assure me the entré.”

“You give me too much credit, Albert, but I will be pleased to accompany you and even propose you for membership. Will that suffice to earn some peace?” Melbourne smiled engagingly, even as he took his prince’s elbow and steered him to the door.

Melbourne debated sending for his valet and dismissed the idea out of hand, opting not to wake the elderly gentleman and preferring solitude. He undressed himself quickly and took up his dressing gown, intending to go in to her. His fine mood still held, and he searched his mind briefly for the cause. Dining with friends, stimulating conversation of the sort he thrived on, all possibilities…but he settled on the few quiet moments with Henry.

 As disheartening as it was to hear an old friend discuss his own mortality, it was Holland’s joyful acceptance of Melbourne’s tacit admission which had lifted his own mood to such heights. A few gestures, no more, and the thing was understood. Of course, that inner voice which always cautioned restraint and circumspection still whispered its warnings but Melbourne found he quite liked conceding their secret truth. He smirked a little at his own folly, the male ego which demanded to proclaim pride of possession. The girl is mine…my baby…my Victoria…she loves me…

Smiling still, Melbourne lightly pushed open the door, determined only to peek inside and assure himself she was resting peacefully before retiring to his own bed. Victoria lay bathed in moonlight, her fine smooth skin aglow with pale celestial light. He smiled to himself, fully intending to step back and let the door swing closed, while of their own accord his feet moved forward, into the room.

Lacking the normal trepidation which sent clanging warning bells each time he stepped into her most private inner chamber, no matter how often he had been eagerly welcomed there, Melbourne found himself approaching the bed – as though I belong here, he realized with mild surprise – and sat on the edge quite naturally. When he’d slid under the covers, propelled by this very unusual sense of certainty, Victoria only sighed in her sleep, rolling onto her side.

Melbourne curled himself around her, inhaling the fragrance of silky hair, and embraced her, hand nestled into the warm concave space beneath her breast. It felt more right than anything he could remember, this place by her side, in her bed. The warm young body he held was his; she had made it so. He was already drowsy and soon fell asleep with a small, satisfied smile still on his face.


	25. Chapter 25

William Lamb lifted his chin and deftly ran a straight razor over the contours of his jaw. When he looked beyond his own reflection in the mirror he saw Victoria watching, seemingly spellbound, that adoring, adorable little face upturned, eyes wide, lips parted. He almost laughed, managing to suppress the urge until the razor finished its path.

“Remember this, sweetheart, the next time you’re tempted to complain about the discomfort of corsets,” he chuckled, dabbing the very tip of her pert nose with a dollop of shaving lather.

Melbourne appreciated the homely perfection of the moment. He’d performed his ablutions in perfect ease as impatient delegations harangued him and had received no few visitors while still abed, lounging in his nightshirt and dressing gown, newspapers spread all around. And yes, he conceded privately, in those early good years Caro had sat thus, perched on the arm of a chair, chattering away as he dressed. But as he did more and more, he dismissed those memories out of hand, pushing them back into the mists. That was then and this was now, that was his first imperfect love and this, his last perfect one.

Victoria’s blue eyes fastened on his. “I do wish I could go with you. I’ve heard so much of Holland House.” There was no pleading in her voice, only mild regret.

“Elizabeth would be much gratified to hear you say so,” Melbourne answered mildly. “It would lessen the sting of not being received at Court all these years.”

“Shall I receive her then? I’ll be happy to do so; I’ve offered before.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. If we have a private moment, I will tell her you said so. I think something less formal. What say you to inviting them to your box at the opera? That would mark the end of her long exclusion, which was more attributable to the Prince Regent’s dislike than his strict sense of propriety, God knows.”

Melbourne laid a warm damp towel over his face, wiping away all traces of lather. He wore trousers only; his feet were still bare, as was his damp torso. He saw her expression, and marveled once more at her open admiration. Melbourne thought little of his own appearance beyond the high standards he set his tailor – he’d heard it said that his coats were the finest-made in London – but Victoria made her appreciation plain and he admitted it was flattering. She liked nothing better than to explore every inch of his body, kissing, stroking, petting, learning his body’s responses and what pleased him most, exulting in her freedom to do so. He had never allowed himself to imagine how eagerly she would beg for instruction in the acts of love, had never dared dream that he would hold her in the night and teach her what mysteries her own body held.

With most others, the Queen’s reserve was intimidating – she could be pleasant in company, cordial at receptions and awe-inspiringly chill when circumstances required, without ever surrendering her innate dignity – but he knew her to be completely guileless, playing off none of the tricks of the other females he’d known. Victoria neither sought flattery nor gave it and yet did little to hide her feelings for him, early hero worship, the romantic love which all too soon consumed her and now, no less intense, the jealous pride she felt in him, and in belonging to him alone. Victoria was still shy, but in the most delightful of ways, and he welcomed her tentative overtures, cherished her innocent hesitation. He had learned, and would protect and cherish this girl’s innocence.

Her feelings were writ so plain on her face he felt himself begin to respond, and that too was reflected in her expression, her eyes widening ever so slightly, lips parting and that little catlike tongue wetting her lips. In any other woman it would be a deliberately seductive gesture, but in Victoria it was entirely natural and unplanned.

“If you keep looking at me like that, you will make me late. Your husband is waiting for me.” Melbourne picked up a fresh white shirt and drew it on, moving closer to where she sat on the arm of the sofa. He felt arms wind around his waist and gently pull at him. Letting the fine lawn fabric drift down to cover his back, Melbourne allowed himself to be drawn towards her. Victoria’s dark head just reached his waist where she sat without rising, and she rested her lips on his stomach.

That simple gesture had a powerful effect which did not escape her, and she raised her eyes, the question in them plain. Melbourne groaned in frustration.

“Not now…we dare not keep Albert waiting…he’s as excited as a boy to be taken out in society…” Obediently, Victoria lifted her head, but only slightly, too reticent to proceed without permission. He clasped his hands on her head and met her gaze, his own burning. As if by happenstance her hand slid up between his legs and fondled the heavy sac there through the fabric of his trousers. He knew she was waiting to read consent on his face and he gave it in grateful silence.

Thought would not be accurate, for he was soon beyond rational cognition, but Melbourne felt the delight she took in her power over his body, a womanly power more potent than that of a Queen, and understood that it continually surprised her. And he…he was helpless to resist. He gave himself up with abandon.

When he could think and move and collect himself, Melbourne dropped to his knees in front of her, a worshipful posture not entirely accidental. “My God, you are an undeserved miracle in my life. My precious sweetheart. Mrs. Melbourne, have I told you how much I love you?” He pressed his lips to the hands now folded innocently in her lap. “Adore you?” he kissed again. “Worship you?” He laid the palms of his hands reverently on the rounded shape of her abdomen

Victoria’s hands moved to caress the curly head laid in her lap. Mostly still dark, Melbourne knew, although the silver threads were ever more prominent. He did not care to dwell on that, less from vanity than from a desire to avoid the stark reality of age.

“Where are you, William?” They both looked up as the heavy door opened with a thud against the wall. Victoria’s husband Albert stood in the doorway, looking exasperated. When he saw Melbourne’s pose he rolled his eyes in a caricature of longsuffering patience. “You only encourage her, you know. Bowing and scraping and –“ Albert’s liquid dark eyes displayed belated recognition of the scene he beheld, and the nature of the delay he had nearly interrupted. “Well, then. Finish dressing and I’ll keep this one in line so she doesn’t cause us to be so late we are denied admission.”

He threw himself down on the long red sofa, stretching out his legs so his feet landed in Victoria’s lap. She pushed them off irritably, but could not maintain a frown in the face of her cousin’s incorrigible teasing.

“How is our heir doing?” Albert asked, playfully prodding Victoria’s backside with his toe. “I already have that increase spent.”

“Don’t be crude, Albert,” she admonished. “This is a child, not a payday for you.”

“It is a payday. Your House of Commons made it so. £10,000 for every child.” He rubbed his hands together like a miser on stage. “And this one does all the work. William, we must toast to a long and profitable relationship.”

Melbourne only laughed as he finished buttoning his shirt and began working on the cuffs. Victoria and Albert rose in unison to assist him, pushing and shoving each other like brother and sister for the honor, Melbourne thought. Resigned, he stretched out a wrist to each to fasten the links in place.

“And since I am here you need not summon your valet,” Albert said with a flourish, holding out Melbourne’s plain black tailcoat. When he’d pushed his arms through and shrugged it into place Albert adjusted the set just slightly and Victoria picked an imaginary bit of lint, so she could touch him once more, admiring how he looked, tall and slim in his perfect tailoring. She said as much and Albert, pursing his lips to study the effect, agreed.

“If only you weren’t so fixed on women, William – on this one in particular, at any rate – I might even forgo that £10,000. I could be jealous of you, Victoria.” He stepped back and swept a comically low bow, flourishing his arm in an extravagant gesture. “Lord Melbourne, after you.”

“After you, Your Highness. You may wait in the corridor. I draw the line at kissing your wife while you watch.”

**

Melbourne and His Royal Highness Prince Albert were dining at Holland House, that glittering center of political, artistic and literary discourse. Henry and Elizabeth Fox were longstanding friends, Henry Fox an early patron and mentor when he first entered politics. So much history together, Melbourne reflected as a carriage bore them along the edge of the Park toward Holland House. Elizabeth, once charming and quick-witted, had grown imperious and sharp-tongued, but still charming, to Melbourne at least. She and her husband adored each other and theirs, the only happy marriage he had known. Begun in scandal when she left her husband to run off with the 20-year-old Henry, Elizabeth had borne him a child before they married and six more after.

Melbourne knew that her exclusion from polite society rankled, no matter how little she would acknowledge it. Ironic that she was the premiere hostess of the most celebrated salon in London for decades and still could not be received in the homes of those who clamored for invitations to hers. He would fix that, Melbourne thought, with Victoria’s willing help. He could do that much at least, while Henry was alive to see it.

As much as Elizabeth Fox wanted to finally overturn the edict declaring her persona non grata at Court, Melbourne knew Victoria longed to be part of a social milieu which would never accept her. Of course, a Queen would be welcomed anywhere, but she would never be a part of those circles he frequented without a second thought; should she appear at a function, all easy converse ceased and everyone present would hold themselves stiffly at attention, responding in monosyllables to the inanities she was forced to utter. Melbourne wished it could be otherwise, knew how essentially lonely and isolated Victoria was condemned to be, her life devoid of easy friendships.

He could only do so much, Melbourne accepted, but he was determined to do what he could. His friends would, for his sake, attend those less formal dinners and evening entertainments Albert would host. He gave the boy credit for seeking to open the Palace, at least informally, to a lively and interesting array of guests not normally considered suitable save at the most carefully circumscribed levées.

Melbourne had harbored some doubt whether Albert could successfully navigate English society. The young prince’s stiffness, apparent in both his customary public manner and in the Germanic physicality with which he carried himself, so alien to English eyes, would be handicaps, Melbourne knew, but if he was to learn it could be done in no better place than the Hollands’ salon.

As it turned out, Melbourne had little need to hover like a protective parent. His casual nonchalance and the trusting affection the boy showed him transferred readily to a gathering already predisposed to welcome any protégé of Lord Melbourne. Elizabeth, Lady Holland, had been one of those astute observers who anticipated the Queen’s closest adviser would be supplanted by her husband, even more likely in light of the extremely close and affectionate bond between the young Queen and her Prime Minister. The close relationship which speedily developed between Melbourne and the Prince Consort had surprised those same observers.

Albert had much of the university student about him still, and any stiffness was speedily dispelled by introduction to those academics whose reputations he knew. Melbourne listened, bemused, as the young man at his side discoursed with eloquence and enthusiasm on the more obscure passages this one quoted, that one disputed, and was soon engaged in heated, if good-natured argument on the validity of Hume’s social philosophy. Unlike Albert’s other passions, science and technology, Melbourne could have readily joined in any discussion of literature and philosophy but he chose instead to drift off in search of tête-à-tête with his hostess.

Her husband confined to a wheelchair in recent months, Elizabeth Fox uncharacteristically refrained from ranging too far from his side. When Melbourne approached she rose and surrendered her seat to him. Henry’s genial, good-natured manner had not altered despite his declining health and when he saw Melbourne standing at his wife’s side he winked under thick shaggy brows. Melbourne only chuckled in return.

“I told you it wouldn’t do, Henry,” she snapped, before softening her expression and dropping a kiss on her husband’s head.

“Affection between spouses in the drawing room? De trope, my dear Madame,” Melbourne teased. Lord Holland waved a finger for the omnipresent John Allen and requested to be steered towards a gentleman he spotted perusing the library shelves.

“How is he doing, Elizabeth?” Melbourne murmured to Lady Holland when they were alone.

“Not well, William, not well at all.” Elizabeth Fox was a titan, and so everyone viewed her. She nagged her husband relentlessly, criticized him freely and terrorized her own grown children.

Now her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled, before she turned away to compose herself.

“Is there anything I can do for either of you? I hope you know you need only ask.”

“You mean, other than marry the widow?” She managed a small smile and Melbourne’s lips quirked in return.

“Other than that,” he agreed.

“Thank you for offering your support. Unlike everyone else, I do believe you mean it too. When Henry is gone – and all of this – it will be the end of an era.” Lady Holland’s voice was matter-of- fact, the bitterness apparent in her dry tone, all trace of weaker emotions successfully subdued.

“I’m afraid we’re facing the end of an era anyway, Elizabeth. A magical time, a time of transition that I fear will never be repeated. This century belongs to the middle class.”

“Bourgeois,” she sneered. “I remember when we all played at reforms. Before we knew it was our own destruction we were courting. Our kind, gone. All those wonderful beautiful boys.

Devonshire House. Georgi and your Caro and the rest. You, William. You were the archetype, the best of them. Content to observe, live life at a measured pace, never forgetting those little elegancies which make life – our way of life – worth living. Why were we so sure we should tear it all down and give it away?”

“’The poor will always be with us,’” Melbourne recited. “It’s the reformers and those earnest well- meaning do-gooders I fear. Judgmental and hypocritical.”

“I see you and your little Queen. The old way and the new. Regency and reformation. She’s a good girl, I hear. Boring, plain, simple but good. Must be the German blood. She and the young man you brought to my table will tear down the last of the old ways and replace them with evangelical wholesomeness.” Elizabeth looked old suddenly, very old under her polish, and Melbourne almost took pity and forbore argument. Almost.

“You misjudge her, Elizabeth. And him too, I think. Or, underestimate, rather. Victoria is…a wonder. She is good, and cares about being good, but that does not make her the boring simpleton you imagine. Do you know, she very much envies me and even her husband having the opportunity to attend your salon? Her life is not one any young woman would embrace willingly. How can it be, when all those around her bow and scrape and don’t utter a word until she introduces a topic of conversation and then respond as though at oral exams.” Melbourne realized he had spoken perhaps more heatedly than he’d intended, and softened his words with a rueful smile.

“She has you,” Elizabeth said coyly.

“She has me,” Melbourne agreed in the lightest of tones. Lady Holland looked taken aback at his admission. “She would like to meet you.”

At that, Lady Holland’s well-manicured brows arched in surprise. “Really? That would set them all in a tizzy, the hens. Not Emily of course, she’s a dear, but the rest. Of course, it won’t happen, no matter how you intercede. That mother of hers, the Duchess, and others at Court would not permit. Besides, I have little desire to shuffle my way up a receiving line to make my curtsy and engage in a few minutes’ banal commonplace talk…no thank you. I prefer to reign here than grovel there.”

“Join us at the opera. We’ll bespeak a late supper and you will dine with us.” Melbourne saw that his proposal had rendered his old friend speechless.

“At the opera?” She croaked, then cleared her throat. “In the Royal box? On display? What did you have to do to win that condescension for me? What do I have to do to earn it?”

Melbourne laughed easily. “Talk to her. Tell her stories of those you see. Who’s who and who’s sleeping with who. Whatever you talk about to any of your other female friends. She is a very young woman, agreed, but she is neither simple or a prude. She is…. delightful.”

He took advantage of her silence to wander away in search of brandy. Albert was talking to a man who stared at him intently, and hailed him over.

“Lord Melbourne, this is Mr. Dickens. He writes for the newspaper, and those novels Her Majesty enjoys so much. Mr. Dickens, our friend Lord Melbourne.”

Melbourne and the journalist exchanged bows.

“Lord Melbourne, I am pleased to see you here tonight. Our paths have crossed before but I have no doubt you do not remember me.”

“Au contraire, Mr. Dickens. You wrote for the Mirror before you moved to the Morning Chronicle. Your coverage of Parliament had quite a few followers. You are not a great fan of politicians, I believe.”

“I sat in the back for too many years to have any illusions, sir, but that does not mean I dismiss all of your good intentions. Your colleagues who bloviate tend to suffer most from my shorthand notetaking. It is hardly my fault if reading back their words embarrasses them.” Melbourne thought the speech could have been defensive, should have been offensive, but there was something naturally likeable about the man. He recollected having laughed heartily over some of the articles poking subtle fun at himself as well as his colleagues in the Opposition.

“’Night after night, I record predictions that never come to pass, professions that are never fulfilled, explanations that are only meant to mystify," says Copperfield. "I am sufficiently behind the scenes to know the worth of political life. I am quite an Infidel about it - and shall never be converted."

Dickens laughed and seemed unembarrassed by a recitation of the passage he’d written.

“Is that why you hoped to see me? Because I’ve resigned; whatever predictions and professions come out of the next session, I shall be innocent.”

“I hoped to see you because I’d like to write about you, Lord Melbourne. You always interested me.”

“Why? I did precious little of interest.”

“It’s what you didn’t do. You didn’t toot your own horn, you gave a speech only when you had something to say and above all you saw every side of an issue. You weren’t so damned sure of yourself as the rest. The only reason anyone would draw the conclusion you did nothing of interest is because nothing spectacular went awry under your watch. You kept us out of most wars, you conceded when you had to without fuss, and you didn’t shut down opposition to guard your own power.”

“Those who go down in history, do so because of the things they did, not those they did not have to do,” Melbourne smiled. Only someone very well acquainted would have detected a latent sharpness in his eyes and the discomfort stiffening his features.

“You brought us through the dangerous years, when revolution could have easily spread like – like flames the night Parliament burned. You delivered to our Queen a stable country at peace and gave her lessons in government which even your adversaries, Wellington, Peel, Greville, say were delivered with impartial care for her well-being and that of the country and did nothing for your own advancement. You saw our greatest national treasures, seat of our history as a nation, burn to the ground and –“

Melbourne laughed sharply and it was not a pleasant sound. “That, sir, is hardly a recommendation. And that night is one I do not care to ever revisit in memory. It certainly should not be described in whatever you intend to write. I did nothing.”

Dickens looked at him blankly. “I was there, sir, no more than twenty or thirty feet from you all night. I captured it all, the chaos, the devastation, the speed at which the flames devoured everything in their path. You were there, cool as anything, and making men slow down and think clearly rather than rushing in pell mell. You gave orders to save the walls of the Palace, ordered the law papers to be preserved.” He stopped then, seeing Melbourne unconvinced.

“Please, take my card. Think about it. You were our Prime Minister and your story deserves to be known to future generations. Do you have children, sir?”

Melbourne hesitated so long that the journalist eyed him curiously. “No,” he finally said softly.

Prince Albert had been listening quietly. He seemed to wince at Melbourne’s response and those liquid dark eyes were filled with something like compassion.

“Well, again, sir, I ask you to think about it. Someone should write your story – you must not be forgotten or overlooked – and I would be honored if you chose me. There will be drier accounts, and those who mention you in passing, a footnote, a reference, but I will write something people actually want to read.”

Melbourne’s features had relaxed once more and he more easily, and more genuinely, smiled and extended his hand for the journalist to shake.

“I will think about what you say, sir. I now serve the Queen and His Royal Highness directly, as their adviser, and my time is not my own. Your Highness,” Melbourne inclined his head to the prince. “I believe you ordered the carriage for midnight and it is now half-past. Shall I have the coachman wait or would you prefer to depart?”


	26. Chapter 26

After Lord M and Albert departed Victoria retreated irritably to her drawing room. Her mother’s interminable whist game was underway. These were already well-enough-known to be ridiculed in society, given as an example of the tedium of their new Queen’s court, hour after hour of unbroken play, little conversation and none of it amusing or enlightening, merely hushed commentary required for the game to proceed.

Harriet Sutherland, her Mistress of the Robes and as such the highest-ranking of the females on duty, sat on one end of the long sofa, prettily disposed with La Belle Assemblée on her lap. Beside her, Fanny Cowper – soon to be Jocelyn – held the most current issue of The World of Fashion and Continental Feuilletons and the two bowed heads compared illustrations, offering opinions on each as the younger maids of honor sat in a half circle at their feet.

Victoria took a seat adjacent the sofa, in a chair generally known as Lord Melbourne’s. She glanced idly over at the fashion plate Harriet showed her.

“Skirts are to be wider and stiffer than ever, ma’am,” the young Duchess proclaimed. “And fabrics heavier. We will each gain five pounds from our stays and hoops.” The young women tittered in unison, more for the effect on Marcus Paget, a young man seated by the window listening to their chatter, than out of genuine amusement.

“I don’t like them,” Victoria said flatly. “I prefer a more natural silhouette and far less structure. But then I haven’t your height.”

She’d first received that advice from one of her husband’s gentlemen, himself a precise-to-a-pin arbiter of all things fashionable. When she allowed young Julian to collaborate with her dresser and their favorite French modiste Victoria saw the proof of his expertise. Narrow skirts that flowed about her legs naturally and lighter, more pliable silks flattered her small frame far more than the exaggerated bell shape in vogue. He had likewise advised her to bare her shoulders at every opportunity and wear her hair in loose unstructured curls – in short, bring back many of the fashions of the ‘90s – and set the fashion rather than follow it slavishly like every other woman.

The Lords and Ladies of the Queen’s Household who were on duty disposed themselves about the rest of the room. Victoria knew her attendants to be firmly divided into two camps, the older group political appointees of the party in power and the younger, unmarried daughters of the nobility. Close to Victoria in age, she liked these the least of all her attendants.

These young women were a closed clique, having attended each others’ balls and routs since coming out, courted by each other’s brothers and half of them – so Victoria had heard – fathered by each other’s parents. Pretty girls, full of themselves and deeply appreciative of their own charms, they cared for little besides fashion, flirting and repeating the gossip they heard in their own drawing rooms for the elucidation of the Royal household.

Victoria was admitted to herself that the personal sense of inferiority she felt when she compared her appearance to theirs was a part of her general dislike but she considered their conversation shallow and scarcely amusing, their humor vapid and wit nonexistent. The titters which erupted when they were in a flock like so many guinea hens sounded artificial and seemed more inspired by the presence of a gentleman than any sense of humor. They flirted unabashedly with the gentlemen of the Prince Consort’s household, seeming convinced that attracting the notice of these disinterested fellows would cement their status as accredited beauties. Mostly though, they flirted with William. His age was commented on and speedily dismissed as a disqualifier; they did not conceal that they found him an attractive man. One or another always seemed to have a question which required his answer, a topic on which his opinion was essential. When he paid them the attention they sought Victoria did not miss the moistened lips, fluttering lashes and longing glances directed at her Lord M. His participation was invited for childish games in the corridors and waltzing practice; when he deigned to join them in the Queen’s drawing room they fluttered about like so many colorful butterflies, sweeping aside broad ruffled skirts so the hem brushed against his leg, leaning forward to pour tea so bodices dipped dangerously low. No, Victoria did not like them at all.

She preferred the company of her older, longer-serving Ladies-in-Waiting. Harriet Sutherland had been charming and a pleasant companion, but Victoria had never completely warmed to her and that lady’s allegiance Caroline Norton made it impossible to trust her. Some of the others – Lady Lyttleton, Lord M’s niece Fanny and Charlotte Canning – were amusing and far less artificial than the young women Victoria only grudgingly tolerated. But her favorite, and the one other than Fanny from whom Victoria refused to be parted when William resigned and the Tories took charge, was Emma Portman.

Lady Portman had been one of the very first appointments William had suggested and at first Victoria viewed her dubiously. She was a contemporary of his, knew everyone and had long been embedded in the social scene. Victoria was no more certain why she wished to serve at Court than Emma Portman seemed to be. The older woman was no respecter of rank; while behaving with scrupulous propriety in the Queen’s presence, never failing to stand and curtsy when Victoria entered a room, always addressing her with proper courtesy, she was no slavish panderer. At the start Victoria had been uncertain of her allegiance, less so when it became apparent she and William had shared more of a past than simple youthful proximity. Caro had been a cousin of sorts to Emma, Victoria knew, and her loyalty to both William and his late wife was plain. She was the first to squelch the inevitable gossip about Melbourne’s past which erupted when he became a daily presence in the Palace. But she’d also, in her unemotional matter-of-fact manner, reassured Victoria in a thousand small ways that the feelings she had for her Prime Minister were reciprocated and did more to subdue the Queen’s ever-present jealousy than even he himself could.

Victoria enjoyed Lady Portman’s sharply worded observations, and the way in which she depressed pretension with a single withering glance. She cherished knowing that there was one person at least who shared her regard for William and understood how things were between them. Whether Emma was her friend, Victoria was not certain; whether she could trust her implicitly for his sake, she was.

“I am going to visit my husband’s household,” Victoria announced shortly after ten o’clock. When she rose everyone in the room did likewise. “Mama, you need not halt your game on my account. Ladies, you may retire if you wish. I have no more need for you tonight. Lord Marcus will escort me to His Royal Highness.” The sandy-haired young man who was Equerry on duty inclined his head graciously, acknowledging the Queen’s wish.

“Ma’am, I will attend you?” Lady Portman added an inflection on the end for appearance only; Victoria knew it was stated as plain fact and twisted her mouth to avoid smirking.

“Yes, Emma, if you please. The rest of you, find some way to amuse yourselves for the rest of the evening.” Victoria turned and swept out of the room, her excellent posture and raised chin contributing to the effortless sense of majesty she projected.

The Prince Consort officially shared the Royal apartment, with an unused bedchamber and dressing room adjoining the Queen’s own. Unofficially he shared a sprawling complex in the far distant North wing of Buckingham House with its own entrance, a small ballroom, large drawing room and dining area with sleeping chambers for the dozen or so gentlemen who attended him.

With Lord Marcus escorting and the two footmen who routinely fell in behind as escort it took several minutes for the Queen and her entourage to make the trip. They heard the tinkling of piano and harp, the pleasant convivial sound of conversation, when they turned a final corner.

One of the footmen standing outside the set of double doors which closed off the Prince’s corridor would have announced her arrival in the carrying baritone they all seemed to practice, but Victoria shook her head briefly. Her visits to the Prince’s apartments were informal, and when she mingled with any guests he had on hand it was as Albert’s young wife only, never the Queen. Victoria approved the relaxed protocol which permitted her to enjoy at least a semblance of real society, from the safety of her palace and under the mantle of protection afforded a married woman by her husband.

Opening the door for her while swallowing the stentorian announcement, the Royal footman appeared to feel real pain at the lack of ceremony. Victoria smiled sweetly up at him when she passed. Beyond, the corridor continued, smaller suites opening left and right which housed Albert’s companions. The drawing room was the last door on the right, before the corridor flowed into a ballroom.

Lord Marcus and Lady Portman flanked their Queen, looking about the room for a place to lead her. There were strangers present, which always put her attendants on edge while Victoria herself anticipated the modest adventure ahead. A young woman stood by the piano, singing to a haunting melody played by her accompanist and Victoria veered towards her, rather than in the direction of the secluded seating area Lady Portman preferred.

She was stopped by a neat gentleman in his mid twenties, whose careful mannerisms were more subdued than the flamboyant hand-waving of some of the others.

“Ma’am,” he bowed before the Queen.

“George,” Victoria replied, smiling warmly at this most favored of Albert’s friends. George Von Wettin was a serious young man, full of ambition and talent in equal measure. A recent addition to the team supporting Charles Barry, the architect responsible for rebuilding the Houses of Parliament, Von Wettin held himself slightly apart from the general air of licentiousness which permeated the group which surrounded the prince.

“Please, come and sit over here. I will get you some wine.” He leaned forward and continued in a low voice. “There are some here tonight who are not quite the thing, ma’am. Those new fellows brought strangers to the palace.” Victoria heard the disapproval, even concern in his voice, and patted his arm reassuringly.

“If Albert welcomes them, I’m sure it will be fine, George. Who is that singing? She has a lovely voice and her song is captivating. I would like to meet her.”

Just then, the songstress allowed her voice to taper off. Seemingly aware she was the source of interest from a newcomer, the woman met Victoria’s gaze and smiled.

Victoria was pleasantly surprised at the forthright manner in which her stare was returned, neither too bold nor with the shy averting of eyes she was most accustomed to. This girl had a friendly, open countenance, very pretty without the air of conceit Victoria was more used to seeing in the beauties who attended her. She inclined her head in greeting and directed her steps to the area of the piano.

“George, please introduce us,” she requested, ignoring the stricken look on his face.

“I – I’m not sure of her name, ma’am,” he stuttered. “Please, let us find a place apart from the rest.

Albert would not be pleased if I allow you to mingle with townspeople.”

“’Allow’, George?” Victoria’s eyes twinkled; she lightly shrugged off his restraining hand and closed the gap between herself and the singer.

“Hello,” the young woman said pleasantly. Victoria recognized the accents of the poorer section of London, but that in itself did not trouble her. Weren’t the poor also her subjects, part of her sacred responsibility to care for?

“Hello. I am – Albert’s wife. This is his apartment, although he is not present tonight. Have you come as a guest, or to entertain us?”

“I’m Rosalee, ma’am, pleased to meet you.” The girl plucked at her skirt as if to curtsy, bobbed her head as if to bow, and finally settled on extending her hand. Victoria looked at it, momentarily nonplussed, before understanding she was expected to take it. She extended her own and the young woman pumped it firmly, once, twice.

“You live here in the Palace then?” Rosalee asked, looking around her at the apartment they stood in, comfortably furnished for entertaining and far less formal than the public rooms across the way. “Gawd, this is really sumthin. Can’t imagine what it’s like to live here. This place is even finer than Goodered’s house!”

“Whose house? I am afraid I am not acquainted with the Goodereds,” Victoria responded. “But please, if you are able, come sit with me and take some wine. I would like to get to know you better. I meet so few strangers, you see.”

Behind the Queen, Lady Portman exchanged helpless, horrified looks with Lord Marcus. Both instantly recognized the girl Rosalee as a Cyprian at best, more likely a common whore. Her thick, lustrous blue-black curls were suspiciously thick and long, hanging loose around her bare shoulders, and beneath the extremely low-cut bodice her red satin corset was clearly visible, pushing up rounded breasts which threatened to break free of confinement. Her skirt was scandalously short, daringly so where it was drawn up by lace trimmed scallops. The creature seemed moderately clean, which was some relief, Lady Portman thought, although she shuddered at what odors might lurk behind her heavy musk scent perfume.

The girl Rosalee smiled once more and bobbed her head. “I’d be pleased, missus. Look, here’s a spot.” She looped her arm companionably through the Queen’s and found a small two-person sofa.

“Lord Marcus, please get us some wine. Unless you’d care for something else, Rosalee?”

“Whatever your pleasure, ma’am, I’m sure. I’ll drink anything, I will. I always thought in palaces the swells drank nothing but champagne but wine’ll do me too.”

Victoria gurgled with laughter, covering her mouth like the young girl she so nearly was. “Then champagne it is. I don’t want your visit to be disappointing. Lord Marcus, please send a footman for champagne.”

“You look familiar, ma’am. Have I seen you before?” Rosalee studied Victoria’s face closely, then shook her head, causing the thick black ringlets to swing back and forth perilously close to the Queen. Lady Portman clasped her hands together, violently resisting the urge to bodily snatch up her royal charge, feeling great sympathy for the role Baroness Lehzen played. Were it not for her loyalty to William, she would have found the interlude most amusing, could have dined out for weeks on stories of the Queen’s tête-à-tête with an obvious prostitute, and one of a low order of that profession. But this was William’s Victoria, not merely ‘the Queen’ and Emma Portman’s insides curled imagining his reaction.

While the Queen proceeded to interrogate her new acquaintance, Lady Portman hovered, wracked by impotent horror. Victoria displayed the naturally pleasant manner she rarely showed amongst the aristocracy, those lords and ladies of Emma’s own milieu whose supercilious faux-deference exacerbated both the young Queen’s shyness and a veneer of icy remove behind which she concealed insecurity. Victoria’s avid interest enlivened the young woman, and their conversation soon enough devolved into areas which were completely unseemly. Emma, no prude, couldn’t help but pay close attention when Rosalee began matter-of-factly describing the business model of her situation, the matriarch who advanced the girls payment in kind which was then deducted from the income they brought in, the gentleman who had promised to set her up on her own and subsequently absconded with her earnings and the superior house of pleasure to which she aspired.

“8 ½ Windmill Street, ma’am, oh! I once knew a girl who worked there, before the pipe brought her down so’s she no longer earned her keep. There’s murals on the walls such as you have here in the Palace, and the girls there all lounge about in opera gowns, eating ices and sipping champagne like fine ladies. The swells – pardon, the fine gentlemen who patronize that establishment are the kind you have here in the palace, dukes and earls and such, even so they say a prince or two –“ Lady Portman nearly tipped over, straining to hear the names she recited. And from there it grew even worse, as the girl offered to describe the various “specialties on the menu, so to speak,” eliciting giggles and gasps from the Queen as she listened to sexual acts described which alternatively puzzled, shocked and – judging from the encouragement she provided – titillated her. Your little Vicky is getting an earful tonight, Lady Portman thought, and I have no idea what you expect me to do about it. She is the Queen; I can hardly order Lord Marcus to bundle her off over his shoulder.

Lady Portman’s relief was palpable when the girl was summoned back to perform another round of songs, these livelier and more bawdy than the previous selections.

“Ma’am, I think we should leave now,” she said firmly, taking Victoria’s elbow and assisting her to stand more forcefully than would be considered proper in any other situation. “William and the Prince will be returning soon and he will expect to find you in your apartment.” Perilously close to speaking of that which should not be acknowledged, Emma knew that no other appeal would work as surely.

“I hadn’t noticed how late it was getting. Oh, Emma, Rosalee is the most interesting creature! I’m pleased I had the opportunity to meet her. It was most enlightening!”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I’m sure she was,” Lady Portman agreed absently, intent only on steering the Queen through the drawing room and getting her safely out the door.

“Ma’am –“ They paused as another of Albert’s companions approached, accompanied by a gentleman, this one clearly well-born, and a young lady, likewise – for which Lady Portman was grateful – at least moderately well-born, judging by her plain good taste and subdued manner.

“Your Majesty, may I present Percy Shelley?” The young gentleman bowed over the Queen’s hand, and graciously pretended to kiss her hand. Lady Portman knew Victoria had the strongest aversion to lips touching her skin, a faux pas most commonly committed by those members of the middle class who had neglected the explanation of Court etiquette all such were given.

Sighing in resignation at the inevitable delay, Lady Portman followed the Queen as she stepped into an alcove to converse with the newcomer. There was not room enough for all of them, so she and the patient long-suffering Lord Marcus stood aside, waiting for the Queen once more.

Much of the duty of a lady-in-waiting consisted of exactly that, waiting, and Lady Portman had long since honed the ability to stand for long periods in idle contemplation, allowing her mind to wander, until she was needed. The low murmur of conversation behind her was so monotonous she nearly drowsed off, until some sixth sense attuned to her royal mistress detected a subtle change in pitch. Curious, she perked up, straining to hear what had altered the Queen’s tone to one she hesitated to think was flirtation but was certainly lighter and more playfully arch than that she regularly employed. Oh William, I am too old to play dueña to your Vicky, Lady Portman thought, wishing fervently for her own bed.

The boy, if he was Mary Shelley’s son, would be just Victoria’s age and the Queen seemed to appreciate his graceful address. She rewarded him with small smiles and sounds of encouragement until Lady Portman’s patience was nearly wrung dry. She was reeling with fatigue when she heard the Queen taking her leave. Finally, Lady Portman thought, finally.

They had not yet departed – the Shelley boy was taking overlong about bidding adieu, although to her sharp ears he had not taken any liberty he ought not – when a page opened the doors once more, this time admitting two tall figures walking in tandem.

“William!” Victoria exclaimed delightedly. “Albert,” she added as an afterthought.

Lady Portman studied her old friend’s handsome face warm and soften involuntarily when it turned to the Queen. She was pleased for his sake that the girl meant no harm, and in her eyes no one could ever compete with her Lord M. Still, she reflected, she is so very young, she bears watching. For his sake. His heart could take no more betrayal.

Lord Melbourne greeted his Queen formally, bowing over her hand. He pressed his lips to the back of her fingers, and squeezed them for good measure, Lady Portman noted, and the Queen did not easily relinquish his grasp. She turned to him so naturally, like a flower to the sun, and he likewise seemed unable to resist standing near her.

Victoria presented her new acquaintance to her husband first, as protocol demanded. Prince Albert disinterestedly nodded, his dark eyes already sweeping the room. She then introduced Percy Florence Shelley to Melbourne, who displayed a courteous interest before politely dismissing him from his attention.

“Your Majesty, if you are ready to retire I will escort you in the Prince’s stead. I believe His Highness wishes to remain with his guests.”

Nicely done, William, Lady Portman mentally approved. Now get us out of here and let this night be over.

All smiles and compliance now that her Lord M was present, Victoria nodded distantly to Mr. Shelley and looked up at Melbourne. “I am quite fatigued, Lord M. I would very much appreciate your accompanying us. Emma, shall we leave?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, indubitably,” Lady Portman answered with alacrity, moving toward the door, determined to keep her spine straight and her gait firm until she could collapse onto her mattress.

She walked behind them down the long corridors, the petite form of her mistress and the tall, elegant figure of William Lamb. Out of sight of anyone less trusted, they leaned into each other, a subtle closing of polite distance so the two shapes seemed to merge into one. Victoria kept her hand safely tucked in Melbourne’s arm and she leaned on him ever so slightly.

“Did you have an interesting evening, ma’am?” Melbourne asked at one point, and Lady Portman, despite her unwillingness to betray she overheard, snorted out laughter she could not control. Melbourne glanced over his shoulder curiously.

“Oh yes! William, I met the most interesting young woman! She works in a pleasure house entertaining gentlemen for money and shared such things with me, things I’d never imagined…” the Queen’s voice dropped to a whisper then, too low for Lady Portman to make out the words, for which she was grateful. She was already working out exactly how she would defend her failed chaperonage.


	27. Chapter 27

“William, those debauched gatherings in the Prince Consort’s quarters must stop!” Melbourne froze in the process of allowing his valet to coax off a tailcoat so expertly tailored it appeared molded in place seamlessly.

“Emma, what a surprise. I thought you’d retired. Please…er…come in?” Melbourne’s tone was playful, belying his surprise at seeing the Queen’s lady-in-waiting in his dressing room after midnight. “I should warn you, this is how gossip starts.”

He allowed a small fond smile to dance about his lips. Lady Portman was, after all, an old friend and as such would be allowed certain liberties. Even, he hoped, by Victoria, should she discover her here.

Baines, the valet, went about his business, carefully brushing the fabric of His Lordship’s coat before hanging it away. Melbourne held out his arm for the cuff of his shirt to be freed of the link holding it closed. Lady Portman stepped forward, lips pursed, and performed the task herself.

“Please, William, dismiss your man. I think you can manage unaided. I must talk to you and I am dead on my feet.” She most efficiently unfastened the second cuff and laid the square tarnished silver squares aside.

Melbourne raised his chin to loosen the knot in his cravat and unbutton his collar. Then he sat and began removing his footwear.

“Are you going to continue to undress without paying me the least attention?” Lady Portman huffed. Melbourne raised his eyes to the ceiling momentarily and she thought she heard him sigh. Nonetheless she held her ground.

“Baines, leave us please,” Melbourne said. “There, Emma. Now, what prompts this visit? I too am eager to go to bed, and with far better reason than you, I think.” His eyes twinkled merrily when they met hers, and Lady Portman almost blushed, something she had not done for forty years.

“William, you will be discovered sooner rather than later if you persist in talking that way,” she snapped, using anger to cover her embarrassment. Emma looked closely at this man in front of her, now casually bare-footed, suspenders lowered and fine white shirt billowing free of his trousers. _What a beautiful man!_ The thought came to her unbidden. A most comely man, made even more enticing by his lazy, gentle manner, sensual without coarseness, utterly at ease in his own skin without conceit.

Lady Portman blushed for a second time, understanding herself to have been rebuked in the gentlest possible way.

“As I was saying,” she continued crisply, backing away, no longer desiring his nearness. “The activities in His Royal Highness’s apartments, the people who….quite unsuitable, and liable to bring down precisely the sort of scandals you all hope to avoid. He’s such a stick, I can’t imagine why he permits those boys around him to bring prostitutes, male and female, and the worst of all possible associates to the Palace.”

“As bad as all that? I hadn’t noticed. They’re young and I recall the things we did – Fred and George and I, and our friends – when we were that age.”

“Yes, but you hardly did them in your home. Or in Buckingham Palace. And as notorious in our circles as some of you were, you conducted yourselves as gentlemen. Tonight, Victoria sat for an hour or more listening to things no Queen should hear said by a young woman who was dreadfully forward with Her Majesty.”

“As bad as that?” Melbourne lifted an eyebrow, skeptical but also, now, showing some concern, Emma noted with satisfaction.

“Yes! The things she talked about, I blush to recall. And I didn’t hear the worst because they ended up whispering together! That…that prostitute sat shoulder to shoulder with the Queen, she touched her, held her hand, hugged her when they parted.” Melbourne saw a real shudder wrack Emma Portman as she remembered. “William, the creature may have had lice or…or some disease.”

“The diseases I think you refer to are not communicated in a drawing room. But I take your point and I will speak to the Prince. He’s formed the intention of hosting literary and scientific salons and once those are established he will naturally form friendships with a better class of guests.

Boring, but better. I thank you for your concern, Emma. I have Her Majesty’s welfare at heart always, as I know you do.”

“And the child, William. They were smoking opium somewhere in that apartment tonight, if I’m not mistaken, and the air reeked of tobacco as well. Someone offered her absinthe, which I managed to intercept. It is not a wholesome atmosphere for little Vicky.”

“I’ll speak to her. Which I intend to do very shortly, before she falls asleep for the night so if that’s all…?”

Lady Portman raised her eyes to Melbourne and wanted so very much to lay a hand on his cheek, feel those cheekbones, the soft thin skin beside his eyes. She also wanted very much not to have to say what she knew she must.

“Mr. Shelley. A personable young man, but of course raised by a mother who was part of that poet’s set. He has connections still, through Byron’s by-blows. A very nice looking young man too.” Lady Portman willed Melbourne to see the boy through her eyes, so she would not need to continue. Instead he merely looked at her quizzically, that infuriating and oh-so-charming hint of a smile playing about his lips.

“I accept your verdict on the matter, Emma. I did not particularly notice but certainly he seemed preferable to some of the more disreputable characters who were in attendance.” Melbourne rose and put on his dressing gown, tying the belt around his waist with a gesture clearly meant as dismissal.

“Your Queen seemed to enjoy his company a great deal. They are just the same age, you know. And I don’t think he is part of the Piccadilly set.”

Lady Portman was never quite sure how to refer to the Prince Consort and his companions, young men who preferred their own gender as sexual partners, almost or entirely to the exclusion of women. She did not particularly care what went on in whose bedroom, except that association made them, in her prejudiced eyes, safe companions for the girl William loved.

Melbourne looked down at Emma, bending his knees so he could meet her eyes directly. He picked up her hands once more and squeezed them ever so briefly.

"Thank you for your concern,” he said softly. “I will not make the same mistakes I did before and pretend a lack of interest I do not feel. And I do understand the risk I run, that she will outgrow her infatuation with me someday. But not yet, I don’t think. And not while I’m alive, I hope.” He kissed her cheek and Emma nearly jumped from the feel of his lips on her skin. “Good night. I am expected elsewhere.”

**

Victoria was in bed, propped against a stack of pillows. Melbourne appreciated how very pretty she looked, dark hair brushed smooth and flowing in waves, the outline of her body silhouetted against the flame of a bedside candle. He did not miss how her eyes lit up when she saw him and it drove all immediate thought of other matters from his mind. When she stretched out her hand he went to her.

Their lovemaking was slow and tender until it wasn’t, until to his delight her fervor increased. She initiated daring new things, always with those wide eyes watching to be assured of his pleasure. When he took her he was especially careful, the child large enough now that her abdomen was round and hard.

Melbourne understood that she, like most women, dreaded the time when her girth would render her unappealing and he wished he could persuade her that such fears were groundless. He resolved to show her that there were ways, many ways, in which they could continue to enjoy one another until she no longer wanted his attentions. That was a day he fervently hoped would not come any too soon. After so many years a bachelor, with only mistresses and hired companionship, it had been all too easy to grow accustomed to nights in her bed.

“Tell me more about your evening,” Melbourne coaxed, when he held her in his arms after, both quite naked and content to remain so, luxuriating in the feel of skin against skin.

Victoria yawned and nestled further into his arms. “Truly, Rosalee was quite a character but I do find it interesting to meet real people, people beyond those I see at formal functions. Do you know what I liked most about her?” She tilted her head back so she could see his face. “I know her occupation is most improper and I am aware that even without that she would be considered quite common and unsuitable but she…talked to me. She was not rude, or even bold precisely. She looked at me, as if I was just a person and she talked to me. I don’t think she was aware who I am, but even if she was, I found it extremely pleasant to meet someone who only saw another woman with whom she wished to converse, someone who might become a friend.”

Melbourne listened carefully, as he always did, determined to know her utterly, to understand how she felt and what she thought, to inhabit as much of her very self as she would allow him.

“You need not justify your encounter to me, ma’am. Nor will I allow anyone to censure you for it as long as you were pleased. Although perhaps it’s best you not discuss this in the hearing of anyone else like…your mother.” He paused, then spoke with deliberate care and tenderness.

“The life you lead is not natural, Victoria, I know that. While I trust you know why maintaining a connection with your new acquaintance is not possible, I am grateful to her and not opposed to sending Tom Young discreetly to do what we can to further her…ambitions.”

Melbourne once more tried to push away the secret doubt he harbored, whether their relationship would have developed as it had if she had been able to live as other young women, going out into society, attending balls, cavorting with young men her own age. If he had not been her first and closest companion, if she had not explored her new freedom from the rigidly enforced isolation of Kensington with him at her side. Doubts which would profit no one, he told himself, because things had unfolded as they had for a reason, whether through fate or happenstance, and he would do his best to ensure her happiness as well as her self-confidence.

Melbourne was pulled abruptly out of reverie by her sweet voice recounting some of the very surprising things she’d learned, seemingly most intrigued by the glimpse she’d been given into the everyday life of a person unlike any she’d ever met.

“And the gentleman you were conversing with when I arrived? What was your impression of him?” Melbourne thought he had done a fine job of keeping his voice pleasantly neutral but Victoria’s head came up and she stared in his eyes. Quite deliberately, he thought, she traced his profile, allowing her fingers to trail gently down his neck, wind in the black hair on his chest. She rose up and laid her lips on his, took his hand and placed it on her stomach over the child within.

“I don’t recall I had an impression at all. Why do you ask?”

“Emma thought he was amusing you. I knew his parents, of course.” Melbourne smiled and stroked her stomach.

“Are you jealous?” Victoria asked in disbelief, as though unable to credit such a notion. “Of me?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Melbourne was genuinely curious what she would say, or why she would imagine he would not be a possessive lover.

“Because I am always the one jealous of you. Why would you ever feel that way about me?” Victoria’s genuine puzzlement was tinged with enough pride Melbourne knew the idea pleased her. So, it wasn’t that she heard tales of his negligence as a husband, he thought gratefully.

“You are my precious, precious girl, my love, my life and you are a beautiful woman. Why would I not be jealous of you?” Victoria tilted her head, pressing her cheek harder into his hand.

“There is no need. I would never – I have never seen anyone to compare to you!” He saw the light of truth shining in her adoring gaze and huffed the softest of laughs.

“You flatter me, my dear girl. But know that you are mine, and I can be very, very jealous. I protect what’s mine. Now come, let me hold you until you sleep.”

Melbourne found her nightdress and helped her put it on, then picked up his own discarded shirt and pulled it over his head.

Victoria lay back down, squirming until she was comfortable with her head pillowed on Melbourne’s bare shoulder and he wrapped his arms more fully around her. She laid a hand palm- down on his stomach, fingers twining in the patch of thick hair there as if to tether herself. Already he stirred slightly, awakening at the nearness of her fingers.

**

Lord Melbourne had trained himself to awake at dawn, before the hour at which servants would be about. Victoria had given orders she was not to be disturbed by anyone until she rang, and if any servant needed to enter her chamber before she was dressed it was to be her lady’s maid, no other. It was an imperfect concealment of that which Melbourne acknowledged every servant in the place already knew, but he’d learned from bitter experience that even with the most compliant of husbands, servants would tell tales to anyone who slipped them a coin. Still, knowing was not seeing and where details had to be invented there was always room for denial.

He’d pulled on his trousers, fully intending to slip out quietly and permit her the extra hours to sleep. With the best of intentions, he found he lacked the will to depart and instead bunched up a pillow behind his head and simply watched her. She made kittenish little faces, wiggling her nose to settle an itch, snuffling softly and burrowing farther under the covers to elude an errant sunbeam. Melbourne thought he could have done nothing but sit quietly, watching over her, guarding her rest, and never grow tired of it.

What fools young men were, he reflected, chasing new sensation, oblivious to the quietest, most precious moments. Had it ever really been like this with Caro though? He thought not. He had been infatuated with her, but perhaps it was more her early infatuation with him which had passed for love. He enjoyed her hero worship, the time he spent teaching her, feeding her fertile mind and remarkable, if superficial, intelligence. He had – and he felt shame now – delighted in dismantling the conventional belief system which provided some restraint on her tempestuous nature.

But Caro had been only a part of his life, even in those early years when their marriage was strong He had encouraged her to explore her own interests separate from his own. He’d told himself then it was all a part of nurturing her free spirit, but had it been borne of his own wish to avoid interference? It mattered now, only insofar as the memory of those times helped him avoid making the same mistakes twice.

This time nothing would pass unnoticed; no homely moments that would be recollected in hindsight as happiness must pass without appreciation as they unfolded. The little sounds she made in her sleep would be held as close to his heart as her moans of passion; the giddy euphoria of their lovemaking did not count for more than those times she watched him shave, he brushed her hair, they shared biscuits and coffee and spilled crumbs as they read the papers in bed. This time, he knew that everything mattered.

“Hello,” she muttered, her voice husky with sleep, lids still half-closed against the brightness of the day.

“Hello,” Melbourne whispered in return, and he knew the tenderness he felt overflowed his eyes.

“You stayed.” Victoria smiled drowsily, her hand already creeping towards his placket. He plucked up searching fingers and laid her hand on the sheets.

“Not for long,” he reminded her. “The servants will be about and I must make my appearance in the breakfast room. Your mother does not consider the day well begun until she can slight me over the coffee.”

He swung his legs off the bed and prepared to rise, not quite able to do so. She was, he thought, a magnet, an irresistible force, one he did not particularly wish to resist.

“As long as you are awake, and not knowing what the day will bring or whether we will have any opportunity to talk alone…I’d like to revisit the subject of your adventures.” Victoria looked momentarily concerned, and she pushed herself up. Melbourne made sure he reassured her with a glance. “It makes me feel quite old when you look at me as you might a disgruntled tutor. I only would like to request that you not visit Albert’s apartments when his companions are entertaining unless he is present. Will you consider that?”

Victoria frowned briefly as he watched her process the request. Melbourne knew that her own will was strong, and Conroy had unwittingly honed a natural tendency to resist control.

“I accept that your singer friend was harmless and provided companionship as well as some interesting instruction,” Melbourne smirked in recollection. “But there will be others who are less restrained. Can you promise me that you will not venture down there alone? I intend to speak to your husband. I don’t think he particularly encourages the class of people who have recently frequented his apartment, and I know Mr. Von Wettin does not approve.”

Victoria nodded her assent. “I only go when you are not here. It gets so boring listening to Mama’s card games. Emma and Fanny are the only ladies I can tolerate.”

“Then let’s review the list of those who have duty as your maids of honor and see if perhaps Fanny or my nephew can suggest some changes. Surely the eligible girls are not all mindless simpering ninnies like those you have now.”

Victoria giggled and brightened at his offhand description of those conceited girls who flirted with him so shamelessly.

“And when I return I will assist Albert in planning the first salon. He has a worthwhile idea. The old salons are dying out and I think there is a new generation he can assemble quite readily.” Melbourne stood. “I will see you at breakfast, ma’am,” he said, kissing her hand as formally as though he’d not awakened naked in the Queen’s bed.

“Wait – “ Victoria blurted, her brows furrowed in puzzlement. “You said ‘when I return’. Where are you going?” Melbourne tensed. He knew it for foolishness or worse, poor strategy, that he had delayed telling her but like all men, he put off unpleasantness as long as he could.

“I have to go to Brocket Hall for the next few days. It is not a social occasion – I will be there alone and see no one.” Melbourne chose his words carefully, unwilling to explain further, even as he realized there was no need to keep his business a secret. Still, it was…his business, the last remaining thing which tied him to his old life, and he knew it was something he must do alone.

“When? Why? May I go too?” Victoria’s voice had already grown strident, harder than it had been only moments before. Melbourne saw her blue eyes grow brighter as her quick temper rose.

“I’ll leave late today. I need to be there tomorrow, and then I’ll return probably on the 29th or 30th. There are matters I must attend to. And no, sweetheart, you may not go this time. We will plan an extended stay according to Albert’s availability next month. It’s almost the end of August.”

“But you don’t want me to go, although there is nothing particular on the Court calendar until September? And yet it’s only business and you will be alone?” Victoria sounded heavily skeptical. Melbourne reached for her and tilted her face up, his touch gentle but firm. She laid her hands on his forearms.

“That’s correct. On all counts. Please, do not distress yourself unnecessarily, Victoria. I always spend a few days at Brocket at the end of August. I will be gone and then I will return.” He watched her face, willing the storm to pass, and nearly sighed with relief when it did. She did not look pleased, but she turned her head and kissed his palm, then pushed his shirtsleeves up and studied his forearms, refusing to meet his eyes.

It was easy to silence the still small voice in his mind urging him to simply tell her. Why not? He mused. Because you fear appearing foolish? Unmanly? It will be the last year, he told himself. Then I say my goodbyes and begin anew.

“I see. I will send for Miss Skerrett and dress now. Please do not leave without saying goodbye.” She was on her dignity, Melbourne thought, and meant her manner to be distant, even quelling, but it was impossible to carry off that impression in a foamy lace gown, sitting cross-legged on her disheveled bed. Melbourne grinned, and this time it was easy to do.

“Of course I won’t.” He kissed her hand once more and sauntered out of the room, relieved it had gone as well as it had.


	28. Chapter 28

The sun had set some time before. Sunset in Hertfordshire was a beautiful sight, unobscured by the London skyline and pervasive gritty fog. At Brocket Hall nothing save distant treetops marred the perfection of light glistening on the surface of the river.

From Buckingham to Brocket Hall was an easy ride, or would have been if Melbourne hadn’t been determined to compensate for a late start. He wanted to reach the Hall before dusk and so pushed himself and his horse. He felt unsettled, off-kilter, his irritation of the nerves exacerbated by sudden self-conscious doubt. Was he doing the right thing, the sensible thing? Why was he doing it at all?

**

Melbourne had planned on getting an early start, as soon as he could get away. Victoria was the primary cause of his delay, not by anything she’d said or done, but by what she didn’t say and do. Melbourne had anticipated a brooding silence he would counter with exaggerated kindness, or perhaps hissing, spitting temper he could defuse with teasing and humor. Instead she was pliant in his arms when he stole a secret embrace, undemanding, no sign of the pouting and sighs he expected. He had given no explanation, after all; merely announced his intention to go off alone to the country. Her good humor made him feel more guilty than if she had thrown herself at his feet sobbing.

Only a matter to which he must attend. A private ritual observed for the past three years in isolation, something he preferred not to discuss even with Emily. He felt obligated, and when he acknowledged the imperative was no longer present, nothing compelled him back to Brocket Hall at just this time, the awareness made Melbourne’s insides twist with guilt and shame.

When he found the Queen to bid her adieu Victoria was on her way to the stables, accompanied by a young boy who gawked at them. Melbourne sent the child away with a coin pressed to his hand and Victoria turned her face up sweetly for a kiss, but he could see she was distracted. Word had reached her, through a garrulous and tender-hearted maid that there was a litter of kittens prematurely orphaned and in need of sustenance. The stable boy had ventured to the kitchens for milk and sops, and from there the news had spread until every young lady in the palace had ooh’d and ahh’d over the newborns and the Queen herself took a hand in their care.

For the merest instant Melbourne felt the tug of duty pulling him to be on his way, but seeing that sweet face, brows furrowed in concern for a litter of barn cats, her eagerness to attend betrayed even as she returned his embrace, he offered to accompany her. Such a simple thing, and she was so uncommonly pleased he could not feel he made the wrong choice.

Helping Victoria feed and fondle incontinent mewling kittens while seated on a dusty, hay-strewn floor left Lord Melbourne too unkempt for travel. He viewed as highly suspect the many stains dotting his waistcoat and riding breeches, anticipating the odor which would soon emanate from his person, and announced his intention to change before leaving. Victoria packed the basket containing her kitten-care supplies and put her hand through his arm to walk back to the house. By the time they’d traversed the distance, Melbourne’s thoughts had veered once more from the melancholy cause of his pending departure. Engaged in animated discussion, he kept custody of the small hand tucked in his arm so she accompanied him back to his suite and kept him company as he quickly washed and changed clothing and then…ah, and then – later Melbourne would feel himself blush in the privacy of his own solitude, remembering her breathless laughter turning to sighs, the sheer joy in their coming together she spread like a contagion, the way she looked when she – ah yes, Victoria.

When he finally arrived at Brocket Hall, one thing after another demanded his attention. A roof had partially caved in, leaving one of the outbuildings in sore need of repair. The gardens and greenhouses were doing well – the horticulturist who claimed hefty wages saw to that – but Melbourne wanted to see what he could bring back to Victoria. He had fresh flowers sent weekly and none were unsatisfactory, but it was not the same as personally choosing the perfect offering. The housekeeper and chef had squared off in battle and both pressed their suit, demanding he resolve their dispute before he could expect dinner.

When all had been tended to and he could begin his evening in earnest Melbourne was first distracted, then transfixed, by the sight of the setting sun. Everything had taken on a supernatural brilliance, the air seemed to shimmer and color was more vivid than he could remember seeing it, his home had never looked lovelier, and all Melbourne could think was how very much he wished Victoria was there to enjoy it with him.

**

Melbourne pecked at the dinner set before him and retreated as soon as he could to the library. Surely there, he thought, he could focus on the reason for this annual pilgrimage to Brocket Hall. Consuming liberal quantities of brandy was essential, and as he applied himself he waited for the old familiar depression to drag him down into the depths of despair.

Melbourne slumped in his chair and paged through memories like leaves in a book. It was here, to Brocket Hall, that he’d brought his high-strung bride thirty-five years before. Here, they had learned to know and love one another, or what passed for love between two essentially self- involved near-children. No, he thought, that isn’t right: we did love each other, we were in love at the beginning, and it would be a willful rewriting of history to deny it.

Those early years had been good, an exciting journey of discovery as they fumbled towards maturity together. Caro, learning the art of love from him, exploring her own sensory awakening. Even then she’d dabbled in laudanum, had done so since her wayward teens running wild with too little supervision in Devonshire House. He’d not discouraged her, liking that it made her wild and loose at the same time, willing to experiment with all those exotic practices he brought home. Things no gentleman showed his wife, but he did not see it then. He’d exulted in his power to free her from all inhibition and loose the wild fey creature inside. Ariel. His fairy queen.

As the brandy decanter steadily emptied Melbourne imagined himself talking to her, to the wife who’d burned as bright as a comet in their world, once upon a time. Caro, oh Caro, he thought. We were so young, so selfish, and so bad for each other. Forgive me my part in what came after. It was both our faults, or neither. I forgive you the rest, if you forgive my part in making you who you became. Then, She’s like you, yet not like you. Is it wrong of me to compare? You helped shape the man I am now and I want her to reap the rewards, to have the very best of me. Can you bless me, Caro? Can you bless us, and the new family I will have?

But that inner monologue was mere words. It lacked emotional resonance no matter how much he poked and prodded, searching for elusive pain.

Melbourne’s increasingly drunken musings led him on to think of his son, whose birthday would be marked tomorrow, the fourth since he died. Twenty-nine years of blighted life, and it wasn’t until that last night Melbourne met the man his son would have been. Before that, he’d been wrong, so wrong, an empty hollowness, a vacuity in those eyes, not quite a simpleton but something worse, capable of destructive rage and the more purposeless fits and seizures which terrorized servants and horrified his family. Susan had been good with him, assuming the role of patient older sister although she was far younger than he, writing to him simple letters which he would answer in a child’s block printing. Melbourne himself had treated him with patience and care, reading for hours, until his voice cracked, feeling his patience rewarded by any sign of understanding.

Augustus laying on the sofa and sitting up, quite lucid, sounding as sane as any man, asking to have his letters franked, and then…gone. Finally gone and with him, all ties which bound Melbourne to the past. He’d thought then his life was over, that there was nothing left for him except infirmity and death. But life had other plans…

The only consideration capable of thrusting a dagger-sharp pain through Melbourne’s heart was what if he and not Caro had been the source of Augustus’s condition. Throughout the years they had never blamed each other for the cause, fighting only over the cure. Caro’s endless quackeries, Melbourne’s insistence on education. Lately though he had occasion to speculate and when he did, he was sure it had to be Caro. Her mood swings, the blackest depressions which made her cut herself to relieve the emotional pain, giddy highs fueling reckless behavior, days and nights of manic energy which suddenly gave way to exhaustion so complete she would not rise from her bed. That had to be some variation of their son’s deficiencies, otherwise – otherwise, he would have taken the biggest gamble of all in putting a child on the Queen of England, a child who would be King.

With a start of surprise and the odd clarity alcohol sometimes brings, Melbourne realized he was enacting a ritual which had little or no emotional weight left to it. The constant heavy ache he was so accustomed to carrying was gone. The melancholy which was so much a part of him it informed every action and every reaction, gone. No matter how much he drank and poked and prodded no grief remained. He looked at his surroundings, aware that pathetic self-indulgence had pushed him to come. Why did I want to reawaken a grief I no longer feel? Guilt? Habit? A need to cling to the past?

“About time you grew up, William. This is who you are. Her lover, father of a child to be born in a few short months. That isn’t something you do, some transient state of being. It’s who you are now. It’s your reality.” The sound of his own voice startled Melbourne; he became aware he’d spoken aloud and laughed, rubbing his face harshly and looking for a clock.

He pictured Victoria, back in London – God willing, sleeping alone. No, that’s wrong, wrong to even consider the alternative; Victoria is not Caro – when she could be here, with him. Could see her so clearly – she would be listening to music, bored of her companions, conversing with whoever was on hand. Or down the hall in that other apartment, being cossetted by whatever ne’er do well crossed the threshold. Given the fine August evening, walking the grounds. Attended by someone, perhaps that young buck Shelley or one of Albert’s hangers-on, pretending a sodomite interest for the sinecure and willing enough to switch his allegiance to the pretty young Queen. Victoria listening the way she did, pinning her whole attention on the speaker, her eyes alight with interest – did she show that keen interest, that flattering attention, to any man who spoke to her at length? Young men, surely – she liked to laugh and play at flirtation when she was at ease, her confidence high as it would be, surrounded by Albert’s exclusively male companions. Young Paget – just her age, ingratiatingly bold and familiar and always at hand, serving far more duty hours than any other equerry.

The sound of glass shattering startled Melbourne until he belatedly realized he had flung the cut- glass brandy decanter and it had crashed against the stone mantle. He pushed himself out of his armchair and roared out an order.

**

The night was warm, balmy even, the air rushing past his face redolent with the smell of good earth and growing things. Melbourne had set out on a mad tear, followed by some stable hand turned groom for the occasion. After a few miles his head cleared enough to recognize the folly of riding hell for leather back to London so late he would be unable to see the road if an errant cloud blocked the moon overhead. He might have turned back if head were clear enough to overrule heart, but in his inebriated state all Melbourne could think of was being back at her side.

An hour on, his horse already lathered and breathing hard, Melbourne slowed the pace. He knew – he knew, and told himself firmly – that there was no need to drive his mount into the ground on this fool’s errand. No, his heart argued back, the fool’s errand was leaving her with no explanation and for no clear purpose save maudlin self-indulgence.

They finally stopped beside a fast-running stream to cool and water the horses. Melbourne tossed his reins to the stable boy and stretched his legs, leaning against a stout tree for support and arching his back to relieve the knotted muscles.

When they restarted their journey, Melbourne set a more measured pace. He never carried a timepiece but judged it to be near midnight; it would be closer to two when he arrived, and the Court would doubtless be asleep. She had no entertainment planned – did she?

When they were less than an hour out Melbourne began considering his impromptu return. If not precisely sober, his head was clearer than it had been when he abruptly decided to go back. She would not be expecting him, and it was never a wise course, to surprise a woman. Melbourne had had many women over the years – after Caro, for pleasure and never commitment, so their foibles mattered little – and no little experience in providing ample warning of his approach to avoid unpleasant surprises. Lovers could supplant other lovers as readily as they cuckolded husbands; husbands even could decide to reclaim their abandoned rights. No, Melbourne thought ruefully, nothing good ever came of surprising a woman if what one wanted, above all, was peace. But this is Victoria, was the undisputed winner of his mental debate.

The halls of the Palace were indeed still and silent when he strode down the corridors, nodding mindlessly to the sentries who of course recognized Viscount Melbourne. He’d sent the young country groom down to the stables with both horses and careful instructions to wipe them down with straw until every trace of moisture was gone and their coats gleamed.

The Queen’s dresser – Miss Skerrett, Melbourne remembered her name – was curled up into a compact ball on one end of the long couch in Her Majesty’s private sitting room. Melbourne cleared his throat gently, not wishing to unduly startle the girl. She sat up in a flash, blinking rapidly to dispel the remnants of sleep, and hurried to curtsy.

“Is Her Majesty asleep?” He asked, knowing the girl understood him to have the entrée. Knowing far more than that, given the intimate nature of her services to the Queen she served. He appreciated her calm, matter-of-fact manner as well as he did her loyalty and discretion. She answered him plainly, without apology or hesitation, adding only that Her Majesty had asked her to wait up, which she never would if she had other plans.

Melbourne reflected on the disingenuousness of that explanation momentarily, then flashed her a quick smile and left, intent now on finding and reclaiming his Queen.

Albert’s apartment was likewise empty, but he could see from the debris scattered about that there had been some party assembled. Where were they then? He wandered about, peeking into bedrooms, caring little what he might observe amongst the nancy boys Albert preferred. Some stray breeze pushed open a door leading to the portico and lawns beyond and it was then he heard voices, laughter, some stringed instrument being plucked to accompany a warbling falsetto.

Melbourne frowned, disliking the role he must now play, disappointed chaperone or, worse, irate parent. Damn it, he thought, she had promised and no sooner than I left, broken her promise.

He spared a single glance at his dusty knee-high riding boots, knew himself to be caked with both dust and dried perspiration. He undoubtedly reeked of drink, though God knew he was sober as a judge now, and was far too disheveled to properly appear before his Queen and her consort, far less nattily attired pretty boys eager to criticize. And he didn’t properly give a damn. Melbourne raked a hand through his hair, rubbed his unshaven chin and stepped out prepared to disrupt their revelry.

He saw her immediately, predictably the only female present. Albert sat on the low stone parapet, his long legs encased in tight white trousers stretched out in front of him. He was surrounded by several of his favorites, and Melbourne was pleased to see the always-sober, serious young architect amongst them. A boy with the long flowing hair and flowing shirtsleeves of those poets who fancied themselves cast in the mold of their hero Byron strummed a guitar and sang some yowling ballad. Victoria was seated on a blanket spread across the grass, legs tucked under her, leaning against her husband’s leg, listening intently to some prosing, pandering boy. Melbourne watched her curiously. Her back was to him and she did not know he was there until her husband leaned forward to say something, then stretched out his hands to help her rise.

Any concern, no matter how abstract, Melbourne had felt was instantly allayed by the look on her face. Victoria lit up – there was no other way to describe the change in her sweet face – and rushed toward him. Heedless of the others present – they were all part of Albert’s inner circle– she threw herself into his arms, trusting him to catch her.

This. This is real, this is my life now and it will not be snatched away. Melbourne, either because there was still some of the disinhibiting effect of his earlier intoxication, or because the moment was itself intoxicating, allowed her public embrace and returned it. He put his arms around her, feeling her narrow shoulders, the firmness of her straight spine and softness of her hips, feeling her taut belly pressing against him. He did not kiss her, despite wanting to badly, the inviting lips half parted expectantly, and quickly released her, mindful of the presence of others.

Albert called for refreshments and Melbourne thirstily downed the iced champagne, then asked for the lemonade on hand for Victoria. Albert gave a quiet order and chairs were brought, for himself, the prince and the queen. He would have gone directly to bed but it seemed to require too much effort and it was, after all, pleasant to sit here with the rest. When he attempted to apologize for appearing in all his dirt, Albert laughingly brushed his concerns aside.

“You look so manly, William. Like a highwayman. I think you have stirred many…imaginations tonight.” Melbourne laughed at the prince’s flirtatious banter – it was part of the dynamic that made their relationship tolerable for both men – and saw that indeed several of the young poets-in- training were casting him glances that, from women, would have been less unsettling. Blackened eyelashes fluttered, hair was tossed artfully, lips were licked until Albert made some sign and conversation resumed amongst themselves.

They sat for a time, engaged in desultory conversation as Melbourne growing increasingly drowsy, until the Prince roused him to request in carefully audible tones he escort the Queen back to her apartment. When they rose, Melbourne was abashed to note he was unsteady on his feet, and was happy enough to have her arm in his, anchoring him.

Victoria turned into his corridor rather than hers, and guided him into his apartment. As soon as they were inside Melbourne gathered her into an embrace, pulling her tightly against him. Victoria laughed softly.

“May I take you to bed, William?” she murmured against his lips. “Tonight, may I?”

Melbourne allowed her to unbutton his shirt, and remove the casual neckband tied loosely around his neck. When the back of her hand rubbed against the bristle on his chin she laughed and stroked it again, liking the rasp against her skin. “Albert was right, you look like a highwayman, or a pirate. I quite like it,” she purred.

He watched her struggle with his boots for a moment, then gently put her aside and pulled them off while Victoria turned down the bedcovers and arranged pillows. Tutting when she turned over his hands, she poured water in a basin and rung out a cloth, then wiped the dust from his face and each hand.

Melbourne found it felt very good to be tended to in a way he hadn’t been since childhood, since his mother loved him above all others. I was her favorite, he thought randomly, and realized with something like embarrassment he must have spoken aloud.

“And now you are my favorite,” Victoria whispered gently, a small smile lifting her lips.

“I love you,” he said, an observation only, spoken in the most reasonable, conversational tone. His head was buzzing pleasantly, the effect of drink and exertion mingling to bathe him in a warm, contented state.

“And I love you, William Lamb.” Victoria tried to help him rise, but of course could not do so unaided. She’s such a tiny thing, looks more girl than woman yet. But oh, she is a woman. My woman. What a remarkable thing, Melbourne thought. She is mine, in all the ways which count.

Her big blue eyes were dancing with amusement and tenderness, the expression of a fond mother, a doting wife. Her little pink tongue was caught between her teeth as she concentrated on working the buttons of his trousers. He permitted her to undress him further, until he was naked save for his loose shirt, and then complied as she guided him to lay down and pulled the coverlet up.

When she would have stood once more he realized she intended to leave him, thinking he wished to sleep. Instead, Melbourne took her wrist and guided her hand where he wanted it and oh it felt so good, cool soft hand, familiar touch, knowing just what to do, how to hold him.

“Stay,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me.” Unaware he was still smiling, Melbourne drifted into sleep.

**

Melbourne knew he must have slept overlong. When he awoke the sun was bright in the sky, another fine summer day. He had not drunk enough to forget, and for a moment he wished he had. She had undressed him like a child, had bathed him, wiped his face and hands. Most humiliating, she had held him and he had fallen asleep, too exhausted and, he must admit, too under the influence of drink to respond. He flushed with shame, alone in his bed, remembering he’d lain near-flaccid in her hand and fallen asleep. But he also remembered her tenderness, the love in her face plain, and decided pragmatically even that was part of a real relationship, one based on love and commitment.

“Good morning,” Victoria came into his chamber carrying a tray bearing coffee and biscuits. The Queen, carrying his coffee on a tray. Like a servant, the Queen who never bore anything, surrounded by servants catering to her every whim.

“You look very pretty,” Melbourne admired the soft brightly colored cotton summer frock molded perfectly to her pert breasts, showing off her shoulders to great advantage, the waistline raised slightly to accommodate her gently swollen stomach.

“How do you feel? Did you sleep well?” She asked, tucking her skirts under her and seating herself on the edge of the bed.

“I did, thank you,” he answered politely.

“You must have been exhausted. Why did you ride back after dark?” “Because I wanted to return,” Melbourne said simply. “To you.” “Did your business finish earlier than you expected?”

Melbourne accepted the coffee she poured and sighed as he inhaled the rich fragrant steam. The coffee had once been atrocious here; he’d taught her to drink it, and then taught the kitchen to produce a potable brew, grinding the beans for each pot separately and pressing them in the French fashion.

“I didn’t go for business, precisely,” he said finally. “Today is – would have been – my son’s birthday and since he died I’ve spent the day alone.”

“Then why did you return? Not to be with me only, I hope. I did not require that.” Victoria met his eyes, her own gaze full of love and understanding.

“I know you did not. I returned because I realized how foolish it was, to not tell you, to immerse myself in memories as though…” he allowed his voice to trail off, not sure himself what he could say.

“It promises to be a lovely weekend, and today is only Friday. You said you have nothing on the Court calendar. Would you like to return with me? We can ride and I suspect we even have kittens somewhere in the barns.”

Victoria smiled softly. “Yes, I would like that very much. If you – if you wish to – to be alone at any point I won’t trouble you. But if you like you could – you could tell me about him and then I would honor his memory too.”

Melbourne heard, in her halting delivery, the shyness she felt discussing his family. It touched him, and he wished he knew how to reassure her.

“Is he – is he buried at Brocket Hall?” Victoria asked hesitantly.

“At the parish church in Hatfield. I have not been back there since the day we laid him to rest.” Melbourne found that he cared little now for those details of a bereavement which seemed so long ago, but he did not want to discourage her interest. In fact, he found he wanted to share more of his past, even those parts of which he was not particularly proud.

He finished the coffee and Victoria took the cup and set it aside. “Would you care for a more substantial breakfast? I can send to the kitchens for –“

“You are the Queen. You do not have to wait on me.” His lips quirked in a smile, Melbourne lifted the hand resting in her lap and brought it to his lips. “If you give me an hour I will bathe and shave and join you and we can arrange to travel back to the country.”

She turned her hand to cup his chin, rubbing the back of her thumb against his whiskers. Melbourne held her head in both hands and kissed her, gently at first and then harder, breathing into her, drawing her breath into him. Victoria’s hand found its way under the hem of his shirt and rested on his side, before sliding further down.

“But first…” he said against her mouth, without removing his lips. “You helped me undress last night. May I return the favor?”


	29. Chapter 29

“No matter what we do, I’ll look like a dumpling! Round as I am tall!” Her Majesty Queen Victoria flounced into Viscount Melbourne’s library, exasperated and intending to express her feelings of outrage. To her increased frustration, even that entrance was curtailed by her girth.

In her seventh month of pregnancy, at just five feet tall the Queen’s slight figure was dominated by her swollen abdomen. She suffered chronic back pain, complained of sore feet and ate very little, feeling chronically bloated. Her mother and the matrons who attended her all prognosticated a prince, based on the prevailing notion that carrying the child low was the best indicator of a male heir. Victoria herself frequently responded that, if the child were any lower, he would make his appearance without any warning, popping out in the drawing room.

Lord Melbourne had been seated at a broad desk littered with ledgers and papers, conferring with a nondescript middle aged man seated across from him. This man, seeing the Queen enter, rose to his feet and bowed his head.

Victoria nodded to this man, acknowledging his presence, and addressed Melbourne. “I’m sorry, Lord Melbourne. I did not realize you were occupied. I will return later.”

Melbourne distractedly run hands through his thick head of hair, an act which seemingly had been performed often in the immediate past. Victoria gently bit her lip to stifle the smile his appearance inspired.

He briefly introduced the stranger to Victoria as a lawyer and estate manager, then dismissed him with a few indistinct words.

When they were alone Melbourne stretched out a hand, beckoning Victoria. She went easily into his embrace as he folded his arms around her and rested his chin, unshaven despite the morning being well advanced, on her head.

“Forgive me, ma’am…what were you saying? Dumplings?” Victoria heard the teasing lilt in his voice and smiled. Lord M could always make her feel better, she thought.

“My robes, for the opening of Parliament. And my gown for the Diplomat’s Ball. My dresser and the seamstresses have adjusted everything to fit my waist – what used to be my waist- and I am perfectly round. There’s no help for it until I’m rid of this child in me.”

Melbourne wanted to lay a hand on her stomach, to genuflect before the miracle growing within her, but he understood that she needed his sympathetic understanding at that moment. He gently cupped her face in both hands and looked into her eyes.

“You do not resemble a dumpling, ma’am. More like…an apple on a stick. A very sweet, candied apple.” For a moment, Victoria’s mouth dropped open and her eyes flashed. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh Lord M, I don’t think I want to look like an apple. Whether cooked in a dumpling or poked on a stick.”

“No poking?” he arched a brow comically and she giggled again, trailing off into a sigh. “I’m sorry I barged in unannounced. Was your business done?”

“We had completed as much as we could.” Lord Melbourne looked troubled, she thought, for only an instant and then his handsome features composed themselves once more into their customary expression of mild detachment.

“Is anything amiss?” Victoria idly glanced at the broad handwritten accounting ledger still laying open on the desk. Melbourne steered her towards the tall windows which looked out over an expansive vista of rolling lawn which ended at a stone bridge over the River Lea.

Victoria was not to be distracted. If something troubled William she was determined to know, and said as much.

“Noting which need concern you, ma’am. The estate…financial matters only…” But once more he repeated that gesture she knew so well, mussing his fine curly hair with his fingers.

“Talk to me, William,” she coaxed.

“Nothing that need concern you, Victoria,” Melbourne repeated, averting his gaze. “Business affairs only.”

Victoria’s blue eyes flashed that early harbinger of her quick temper. “Lord Melbourne, if you won’t discuss your concerns with me, then as your Queen I order you to do so. You have served Crown and Country faithfully for many years, First Lord to two monarchs, and have refused all reward for your services. Tell me, is there some problem with which the Crown can assist?”

“No need to get on your dignity, ma’am,” Melbourne replied, his lips quirking in a slight smile. “The estate income seems to have dwindled. Lack of oversight and poor management, my lawyer tells me. Economies are needed. It shouldn’t be difficult to manage – it’s not like my direct expenditures are great.”

“How great is the difficulty? Please, William, tell me. I am not your…your mistress only. This is not some affair of pleasure, is it? I am your wife in truth if not in law, and I deserve to know.”

“Ah, Victoria, that’s the thing. You are not, you escaped tying your fortunes to mine and you need not concern yourself with my financial affairs.” Victoria heard the bitterness and humiliation in his words.

“You really want to know the details?” he asked skeptically. Victoria gave him a look of such long-suffering patience he smirked.

“I once had an income of almost twenty-one thousand a year. That was back in the ‘30s. More than sufficient to pay my debts and maintain the properties. Now it seems that has dwindled by a third or more, and without the five thousand I drew from the Government while in office, I’m told severe measures are needed to avoid catastrophe.” Melbourne didn’t meet her eyes when he spoke, and he recited the figures without inflection.

“Then you must allow me to set things to right,” Victoria stated baldly.

“No!” They both blinked at the harshness of his tone. Softening his voice, Melbourne continued. “Ma’am, that is why I did not want to have this discussion. These are my personal affairs and I will set things to rights or deal with the consequences. You must not concern yourself. Better I go bankrupt – or sell Brocket Hall – than accept help from you. My self-respect could not survive that.”

Victoria struggled to understand. She herself, apart from the Crown, was a very rich woman. William needed money. Why should it be more complicated than that?

“You cannot sell Brocket Hall, William. You told me once you wanted me to feel this was my home too, and I do. This is – this is our home now, and will be our child’s. The palaces belong to the Crown, they are not homes.” Victoria saw him wince, and she lowered her voice to a whisper of concern. “If you will not accept help what can you do?”

“I am not a firm master. I’ve been considerably preoccupied, it’s true – first by my office and then by – well, other things – but Mr. Coke points out that there are fifteen servants at South Street, all of them drunkards, idle most of the day, yet drawing salaries. I’ve allowed Tom Young to manage things without oversight and while I’m sure he’s been honest I doubt he’s been careful. Here at Brocket Hall I am served well but no money has gone into maintenance so the property is neglected. It cleans up well enough for Your Majesty’s visits but underneath the surface everything is in disrepair. It all needs better management than I seem capable of providing. I suppose…appeal to Fred to come home and look things over.”

Victoria sat at his chair, drawing herself up to the desk before the ledger. She glanced at him for permission which he gave with a slight shrug. Reading down a column of expenditures her eyes stopped at three entries, one after another.

“You may ask. Another reason why I could not accept assistance from you. I can hardly use your money to pay the pensions of those ladies.”

“You provide Mrs. Norton income?” Victoria asked stiffly, seeing the answer before her in an accountant’s careful cramped hand.

“And Lady Branden. My…involvement in their lives cost them their marriages and the support of their husbands. I can do nothing less and retain any self-respect.” She saw his eyes plead for understanding.

“And this one? Another mistress? How many do you support?” Now Victoria’s tone was crisp, acerbic, but Melbourne saw the hurt in her eyes.

“No, she is – was – Caroline’s ward. Lady Ponsonby’s ward first. Susan is married and lives abroad. I send her a pittance annually and help out where I can otherwise. She does not appeal often.” Melbourne heaved a deep sigh and threw up his hands in defeat. “Sweetheart, please let’s not dwell on this. I’ve kept nothing from you that you’ve asked. Now, in return, I ask you to let me deal with my business in my own way.”

Victoria’s lips were still tightly compressed and her eyes troubled…but she swallowed her next words. “Very well. But…please let me be a part of whatever solution you devise. I don’t know how much you owe but I’m sure it can’t come close to what I hold privately, apart from the Crown. Albert gets the £30,000 a year you won for him, plus another £10,000 for each child born of our marriage. And you get nothing to reward you for your years of service to us and –“ Melbourne laughed, a rich warm sound, and his eyes were merry.

“My dear Victoria, Albert is a foreign prince to left home and country to come here and accept a perpetually second. He earns his keep in good humor alone. And what services I perform for you, even aside from -” he looked pointedly down at the child. “-has been my privilege and my joy.”

They both looked up when the Queen’s husband joined them. “I heard my name? Joined to the happy topic of my soon-to-be-increased income?” Albert clapped Melbourne on the back collegially and threw himself into an armchair. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything? A plot to cuckold me?” He laughed, showing the relaxed informality only those closest to him ever saw.

“No, that’s quite all right. We had finished our prior discussion and were about to discuss your wife’s wardrobe difficulties.” Victoria didn’t look quite pleased, either at the abrupt unsatisfactory end of their conversation or to hear Melbourne choose the term ‘your wife’ in speaking of her. It might be accurate, she thought, but it was hardly true, as the three of them knew. She was still thinking of the financial concerns Melbourne had so grudgingly shared, and was determined to find some solution he would find palatable.

Victoria described her efforts to achieve a minimally satisfactory appearance draped in the formal robes she would wear to open Parliament.

“And what about your ballgown? Did your modiste design something not too hideous? You will be even larger in a month.”

“Thank you for your bluntness, Albert,” Victoria said smoothly, cuffing him on the shoulder. Melbourne moved around the desk and propped his hips on the front, bringing himself down to her height.

“You are beautiful, Victoria, and pregnancy hasn’t changed that one whit. You carry England’s child, the heir to the throne.”

“As if I could forget, Lord M. As if anyone could forget when they see me.”

The Prince Consort studied her carefully, his dark-eyed gaze traveling from head to toe.

“William is right, Victoria,” he said finally. “You’ve kept your looks. Your face is, if anything, more attractive, your cheekbones more pronounced. Some females puff out –“he blew air into his cheeks and made an awful grimace, his features puffed out in parody of bloating. “As for the rest, William is the best judge,” he winked at the older man. “but to me you are not fat all over, only here.” He patted her stomach until Victoria slapped his hand away.

“Why do people think they can do that?” she demanded rhetorically. “Touch and pat and poke my stomach, when it would be lèse-majesté to touch me at any other time?”

“I consider myself rebuked, wife,” Albert said, sounding not at all sorry. “William, you heard her. She does not appreciate our interest in the royal child.”

“Don’t be silly, Albert. William may touch his own child as he wishes.” Less enthusiastically, she continued, “and so many you, I suppose. But in private only, else everyone will think to do likewise. Mama, Lehzen, even my ladies, always touching, asking the most intimate questions…”

Moving with deliberation, Victoria backed up between Melbourne’s outstretched legs and leaned against him. She reached behind her and drew Lord M’s hand around her waist, so it rested on her abdomen, feeling resistance at first, stiffness in the sinews and tendons of his muscled forearm, but then he yielded and relaxed his hand. With perfect timing, the child kicked, thumped, rolled over, pressing unmistakable knees and elbows against its father’s touch.

“Before you throw me out, I came in search of you for a reason, Victoria. Your mother.”

“Mama? What’s she done?” Victoria asked crossly. Melbourne said nothing. He had, early on, supported the young Queen as she stretched her wings and revolted against the indignities imposed upon her at Kensington. After Conroy had gone Melbourne said little more on the subject. More recently, Melbourne had exerted himself to avoid giving offense to the Queen’s mother, swallowing her insults in silence, spending a great deal of wasted charm in attempting to establish cordial relations.

“Tante is very unhappy, Victoria. You are not kind to her. It was especially cruel to bring her here and then leave her to fend for herself, forced to share a room with one of your ladies-in-waiting.”

“And she complained to you?” Victoria’s voice was sharp. “Brocket Hall is a commodious country house but it is not Buckingham or Windsor. I did not force her to share a room, and if she so choose, sharing a room is not such a hardship.”

“She did not complain to me. I observed. The room you placed her in had a leaking roof and the ceiling was covered in mold. Lady Lyttleton invited her to share quarters.” The Prince Consort expressed himself with great seriousness, all trace of the teasing brotherly affection he usually showed the Queen absent.

Victoria was silent so long it seemed she might not address the issue at all.

“Victoria,” Melbourne prompted. “There is no reason your mother can not be suitably housed in my home. It has not fallen into such disrepair that either your mother or Lady Lyttleton needs to be housed in a wing which has been closed for decades.”

“We do not want her in our wing, Lord M. You know she hears everything and spies on me.” Victoria pulled away from Melbourne, and turned to face him, her gaze going from husband to lover. “You don’t know –“

“Victoria, spare us another recounting of your childhood complaints. You are a grown woman now and Tante is the only mother you have. Stop this foolishness and reach out to her.” Albert spoke sternly and Victoria turned instinctively to Melbourne for support. She found none.

“I think you are ganging up on me and it’s not fair.” The Prince threw up his hands in surrender.

“I brought you my concerns, Victoria. Your mother deserves more kindness than you show her. That’s all I wish to say.” He gave her a stiff little bow and strode out.

“William, we have not yet finished talking about that other matter,” Victoria said as soon as they were alone once more.

Melbourne approached and despite herself, the Queen was dazzled by his nearness, thinking that she would never grow accustomed to knowing he was hers to touch, to kiss, to lay with. His shirt was only loosely tucked into riding breeches, with the simplest of neck cloths tied round his throat, and she stayed in place until he was so close she could see his chest rise and fall with every exhalation. Melbourne cupped her face in both hands, holding her as though she was a delicate flower he did not wish to crush.

“Victoria, please…you knew I was no bargain, but this latest dilemma only proves it. I nothing to offer you, except my devotion. Yet…here we are, and I am the most fortunate of men. I don’t want to upset the precarious balance of fate which has blessed me with your affection. Please… grant me what remains of my dignity?”

He looked so deeply into her eyes Victoria felt their very souls touch. She raised a hand to touch his face in wonder.

“My darling…I am the most fortunate of women. Don’t you know what you give me? You give me everything and I will never be able to repay you a fraction of that. You fill me to overflowing with love, you are the wisest of men and the only companion I could ever desire.” Victoria wanted him to see himself as she saw him, and did not look away as he searched her face. Finding what he sought, still holding her, Melbourne touched his lips to hers. When he raised his head once more, it was only to enfold her in his arms and hold her against him.

“We scarcely fit anymore,” Victoria said in a muffled voice, her face against his shirt, belly pressed hard against him.

“You will always fit me, Victoria,” he whispered hoarsely, his head resting on hers.


	30. Chapter 30

The sky had an odd, bruised appearance that promised snow. William Lamb was glad he hadn’t ridden, appreciating the respite from a cold December wind his carriage offered.

His days passed quickly, filled with appointments, meetings and seemingly endless reports, financial statements and lists to review. He sometimes dined at his club with colleagues, sometimes at Holland House with old friends, again frequented the lively salons of celebrated hostesses with a flair for entertaining, but most often chose to go home. Home. How he loved the sound of that word, how it resonated in his mind!

Lord Melbourne was no longer Prime Minister. He had resigned leadership of the Whig party when he announced his intention of taking a cross-bench seat in the House of Lords. His party still had a slim majority and he struggled to justify his decision, settling only for a vague plea to escape the rigours of premiership. A Whig by birth, upbringing and habit, he’d always been a centrist with conservative leanings so it demanded no great leap of political faith by his colleagues to accept his strictly nonpartisan position.

In the months since Peel had assumed control of the government Melbourne found himself busier than he’d ever been before. Peel and Brougham both sought his counsel regularly, newer Members on both sides of the aisle demanded assistance in crafting bills which would be acceptable to a majority. Melbourne’s cardinal sin as Head of Government, determination to build consensus and achieve compromise at all costs, now seemed to be a prized virtue. A few ignoramuses still approached him with the intention of appealing for some favor from the Crown, a Cit’s daughter hoping to be presented, a rich merchant seeking the social cachet of being received at the Queen’s levee, wealthy tradesmen aspiring to a Royal warrant for their goods. A rare few were even guilty of alluding to the prospect of remuneration for Melbourne’s intercession. As he was rarely alone on these occasions he depended on his friends and his very capable secretary to spare him such annoyances.

Melbourne was generally well-liked and his personal relationship with the Crown, the Queen and her Consort, was old news, rarely the subject of gossip or speculation. That a former Prime Minister virtually lived at Court - he maintained apartments at Windsor and Buckingham - and was considered part of the Royal Household was no longer worthy of comment in polite society. Every aristocratic household had always included numerous individuals unrelated by blood. It was only the working class and bourgeoisie that considered a single family, husband, wife and children, the norm. His own mother had only raised a few eyebrows, not with her many affairs but with her friendship with the poet Bryon, both preceding and outlasting his dalliance with Caroline. That had made for a few awkward dinners, when Melbourne visited his mother during the height of the fiasco. Nonetheless they all managed, with civility.

As the team slowed, Melbourne shifted slightly to catch his first glimpse of the Palace. This great pile of golden stone, every one of its many windows glowing with warm light, was a pleasant vision after the grime of the city and he always took a moment to savor the feeling of coming home. Home, not because it was a palace but because she was there. A woman he adored, who returned his love, and a large, boisterous extended family of their own design. Such an unexpected blessing so late in life, after weathering a tumultuous unhappy marriage and the decline and eventual death of his son. He’d had many friends, and much feminine consolation, but home had been only a house filled with servants, a chair in front of the fire and a bottle of brandy. As essentially unreligious as Melbourne was, he often framed a small superstitious prayer of thanksgiving.

“Will you attend the gathering tonight, Lord Melbourne?” George Von Wettin asked. He sat across from Melbourne, having accepted the offer of a ride, his mount tied behind. Melbourne had introduced Albert’s friend to Charles Barry, in charge of design, but it was the young man’s passionate interest, intelligence and talent that had earned him a minor role in the Great Rebuilding of Parliament. He spent long days at the site, coming back spattered with mud and plaster, and often fell asleep over the drawings he worked on by candlelight in some corner of the royal household.

Melbourne yawned and rubbed his face. “I expect I will look in. Of course you will be there.” He smiled. “I remember rising at dawn and still being able to socialize half the night. Enjoy your stamina while you can.”

“I doubt Her Majesty will wish to socialize half the night,” George said. “Although she certainly has more energy than my sister at that stage of pregnancy. Albert says she’s only given up riding at the physician’s insistence.”

“As far as we know, at least,” Melbourne smirked. “The Queen does not like to be told ‘no’. I’m afraid she doesn’t handle it well.”

“I’m sure Her Majesty would do nothing to endanger the child.” Van Wettin replied earnestly.

Victoria was in her study with Sir Robert Peel. Melbourne looked in, greeted Peel and knelt to kiss the Queen’s hand. Victoria smiled at him warmly. As he always did, Peel greeted Melbourne with gruff good humor bordering on relief, inviting him to join them. Melbourne thought that was probably less due to courtesy than it was his need for an interpreter. Peel and the Queen both tried, but it sometimes seemed they spoke different languages.

“I believe Sir Robert and I are nearly done. I confess I cannot sit much longer. This child demands constant movement.” Victoria rose from behind her desk, a trim petite figure in simple silk gown draped over her rounded abdomen. She arched and rubbed her lower back.

Peel leapt to his feet with such alacrity papers spilled from his lap. Melbourne tried not to smile. For a large man occupying a powerful position, Peel had never quite lost his awe in the Sovereign’s Presence - Melbourne imagined he thought of it that way, in capital letters - and that made Victoria less relaxed, more intimidating. Melbourne knew well that for all her natural dignity his little Queen could be a warm, witty and quite wonderful woman, and wished the new Prime Minister could see that side of her.

“Sir Robert, thank you for your patience in attempting to explain the trade issue to me.” Victoria smiled graciously, consciously avoiding Melbourne’s eyes, knowing they would share a moment of humor. She couldn’t permit herself to laugh at her Head of Government. At least, not in his presence.

“Melbourne, we were discussing Hong Kong and the position of the East India Company. Perhaps you could be sure she understands the issues involved.” Melbourne winced inwardly, aghast at both Peel’s lack of tact and the insult to Her Majesty’s comprehension.

“I’m sure you explained the matter quite well, Peel. If Her Majesty has any follow up questions she knows she can rely on you.”

Peel took his customary three steps back - still unable to do so without looking over his shoulder - before turning to walk rapidly out of the room. He audibly exhaled with great gusto when he was nearly but not completely out of earshot. Victoria doubled over in gales of laughter as Melbourne smirked.

When she caught her breath Victoria wrapped her arms around Melbourne’s waist, resting her cheek against his waistcoat.

“I’ve missed you,” She purred.

“I’ve only been gone eight hours,” He pointed out reasonably. “I dined here last night and looked in on you before I left this morning.” The wonder of this beautiful creature’s attachment to a man so many years her senior never quite left him. He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her dark head.

“Look, how well we fit,” He murmured.

“Not much longer, I fear.” She patted her stomach. “Soon I won’t be able to reach you. Your son will be quite in the way.”

Melbourne always thrilled at those words. She was certain the child was a boy and Emma Portman, as sure of her opinion on that matter as she was every other, concurred. Even the Duchess of Kent, having delivered a son and a daughter before Victoria’s birth, opined her daughter carried a prince. Melbourne didn’t care which it was. He’d buried a daughter shortly after her birth and his son after twenty-odd troubled years, and was overwhelmed by sheer joy at the prospect of becoming a father once more. That his son or daughter would someday rule this great nation, was beyond comprehension.

“Then...” Melbourne spun her neatly around, so her back was to him. and laid his hands on her stomach, pressing himself against her firm bottom. “We adapt to circumstances, ma’am. See?”

“William, you’re here! Excellent!” Prince Albert bounded into the room. “You are coming tonight then?”

Albert had begun hosting informal gatherings in his own wing of the palace, inviting what Melbourne considered a motley collection of characters. The Prince had great interest in every field of art and science and a gift for bringing together bright young men and women from all stations. He welcomed to the Palace - albeit informally - artists, writers, inventors, musicians, even actors who would otherwise never be formally received at court. Even young politicians from both Houses sought invitations, and a sprinkling of wealthy potential patrons in attendance only added to the appeal.

Victoria’s husband had surprised Melbourne in many ways. As he gained the confidence to own his authentic self and pursue his own interests, Albert had evolved into a rather delightful young man. He had grown up in an unloving home, under a harsh father who made no secret of his contempt, a mother who had been driven away, only a brother to show affection, and he was unabashedly admiring of Melbourne. Victoria had been the reason for their bond, such as it was, but in the past year Albert’s relationship with his wife’s lover had evolved into a strangely paternal friendship. Families indeed came in all shapes, Melbourne often thought with no small degree of amusement.

“I think you will find interesting conversation. We expect a mathematician, a gentleman who found new use for steam turbine. A visiting opera singer—“ Melbourne laughed and held up his hands.

“Enough, you overwhelm me. I will look in on your guests although I may not stay long. I am expected at the House quite early. Appropriations, you know.”

“Thank you!” Albert responded effusively. “I do not have your ease of manner and this one,” He nodded to the Queen. “She scares my guests.”

“Albert!” Victoria swatted him. “I do not scare anyone!”

“Tell her, William. She does. She has that way of looking at one-“ Albert arched his eyebrows comically and looked down his nose. “And when she says ‘we’...” He laughed and pretended to dodge her blows, nimbly hopping over the back of a sofa as Victoria smacked him again.

Melbourne watched their antics, amused as they teased like brother and sister. Her husband, and even more the gay young gentlemen companions of his Household, were the playmates Victoria never had in her solitary childhood. With them she romped and ran and they teased each mercilessly, chattering like magpies. Albert, more serious and aware of his dignity, could sober them with a glance when circumstances demanded. Melbourne himself hadn’t the heart. He knew all too well how little laughter and how few playmates had enlivened those grim years under the Kensington System.

“If I must appear and be charming tonight I will rest now.” As he spoke Victoria swiftly went to his side, putting her arm through his.

“I will see you later,” Albert trilled. “I find I also am in need of...rest.”

The Palace ran on routine, and at late afternoon Melbourne knew there was no risk of encountering household staff in the private corridors. The servants would be lounging in their own quarters, having a tipple, or at work in the kitchen preparing dinner. Victoria’s dresser and his own valet were discreet, loyal and very well compensated, disdaining gossip with those beneath them on the social ladder.

Melbourne ushered Victoria into his apartment. He loosened his cravat and tugged off his coat, then dropped into an armchair, sighing, as Victoria stood over him expectantly.

“I meant ‘rest’,” He protested playfully, drawing Victoria onto his lap and positioning her so she could nestle against him. A small cautionary voice in the back of his mind was still aghast at the liberties he took with his very willing queen, even while he delighted at the feel of a beautiful young woman in his arms.

She traced his features with her fingertips as if memorizing the contours of his face.

“So handsome, Lord M, and all mine.”

Melbourne couldn’t help smiling. “All yours. That pleases you, ma’am?”

“It pleases me very much, Lord M.”

He winced, shifting her weight in his lap as she smiled and squirmed, acknowledging the feel of his erection poking her bottom.

“You want to rest, Lord M. Otherwise I would...” Victoria trailed her fingers across his length, a feather-light teasing stroke that made him groan as his breath came faster. She watched him, enjoying the sudden tension in his face, then leaned forward to kiss him. She flicked the tip of her tongue on his lips, against his tongue, continuing the rhythmic motion of her fingers. When his hand found her, moist and ready, she pushed herself against him.

Later, with a contented purr, Victoria rested her head on his chest as they lay on his big bed.

“My dress is quite wrinkled,” She complained. “What will Miss Skerrett think? It’s quite naughty to do such a thing fully clothed.”

“Hopefully, she will think of a way to dress you without so damned many buttons.” Melbourne smacked her bottom lightly. “Now go! Leave me to rest, if I am to put in an appearance at Albert’s salon.”

Victoria rose obediently, twisting her mussed hair into a simple knot with the remaining hair pins.

“Ma’am...” He looked at her solemnly. “Have I told you how very much I adore you?”

“Even like this?” She looked down, running a hand over the substantial bulge of her belly.

“Especially like this.” He laid a hand over hers, on their child.


	31. Chapter 31

Victoria rested too, when she returned to her own chamber. Sleeping beside the man she loved was not a luxury they often indulged in, a risk they were able to take. There was a fine line, often blurred but rarely crossed, between what everyone knew and what no one actually knew with certainty. Allowing themselves to actually sleep together was something usually reserved for the rare occasions all of them – Melbourne, the Queen, the Prince Consort and his favorite companion – were able to slip away to Brocket Hall for a long weekend away from prying eyes. While their relationship was no crime, neither was it something Victoria or Melbourne wanted openly discussed.

After a hot bath to relax the tight ache in her lower back, Victoria allowed Skerrett to arrange her hair in long loose curls that framed her face. Victoria had abandoned the multiple stiff petticoats previously in fashion in favor of a more natural silhouette, skirts that swayed gracefully as she walked without taking on a life of their own. Skerrett buttoned her into a dark blue velvet that flowed softly, without adornment, neckline resting just off her shoulders. Her toilette was otherwise simple, flowers in her hair and a small silver bird suspended by a silver chain around her neck.

The Prince kept apartments in the north wing of the Palace. The Queen walked with only Lady Portman attending her down the wide corridors. Victoria found she rather liked her husband’s mode of entertaining. Unlike her own official balls and receptions, Victoria made no grand entrance here. She did not dine with his guests – that would have introduced an element of unwanted formality – but generally waited until later to slip in unannounced. His Royal Highness introduced her to a few select visitors, always only as his wife so that no one could boast of having been formally “received” by the Queen. Many of the guests were unaccustomed to the minimal demands of etiquette in even this relaxed setting, but those most familiar with the court and the household were numerous enough to set a discreet example. No one was expected to offer other than the simple bow accorded any gentlewoman, and “ma’am” was an acceptable form of address. If, on occasion, spirits or an excess of determination prompted a visitor to approach the Queen without introduction, someone – Melbourne if he was present, Albert, or one of their attendants - was quick to tactfully intervene.

Victoria quite enjoyed not having all eyes on her, not being expected to initiate every conversation and cast about for something witty or interesting to say. At Albert’s salons she could listen to the very interesting persons he assembled, ask questions or remain silent, without any weight of expectation. She enjoyed being able to sit back, and simply be a guest in her own palace.

As they neared the double doors at the end of the hallway, Victoria heard pleasant sounds of music, conversation and laughter. The salon hummed with energy, people chatting in groups of two, three or more with far more enjoyment and vivacity than was found at more formal events. Lady Portman nodded to the page who opened the door, and they slipped inside.

The Prince’s brother approached with his usual joie de vivre and greeted his sister-in-law by kissing her hand before tucking it in his arm.  He turned to Lady Portman and sketched another bow. “Lady Portman,” He said. “You are looking well tonight. Will Lady Sutherland also be joining us?”

Emma pursed her thin lips in an expression many who didn’t know her love of gossip and deliciously bawdy sense of humor would take for disapproval. “I’m afraid not. Lady Sutherland has been called home by her husband. It seems the Duke had need for his wife’s services. As a hostess.”

“Then I will have the pleasure of escorting two beautiful ladies, one on each arm,” He responded smoothly, offering his other arm to Lady Portman and leading them to a sofa that rapidly emptied at the Queen’s approach.

A waiter held out a tray and Victoria accepted a glass.

“I think the Queen would prefer lemonade.” She looked up as Melbourne deftly plucked the glass out of her hand and returned it to the tray.

Victoria smiled, seeing he had chosen a jacket the same midnight blue velvet as her gown. “What was that? It was such a curious color, I was sure I had to try it.”

“Nothing you would care for, ma’am.” He sat beside Lady Portman – another nod to the proprieties – and they watched the guests. One lady played a harp in the corner and a gentleman accompanied her on the grand piano.

An unfamiliar gentleman who caught Victoria’s eye seemed to be dominating a small circle of onlookers, talking with great animation and gesturing with both hands. He was startlingly handsome, black eyes and hair against a dark complexion. She wondered idly who he might be – Albert chose each guest carefully, for what they might contribute of interest to the evening – before being distracted by a familiar face coming to greet her.

“Your Majesty, Lord Melbourne.” A young woman, several years older than Victoria, approached. She saluted the Queen with a nod of her head. Ada Lovelace was a frequent visitor and Victoria was as often amused as taken aback by her bold, forthright manner. The woman made no secret of her interest in Melbourne. His connection to the father she idolized but had never known seemed to be the basis for a mild infatuation. Clearly, Victoria thought, it hadn’t occurred to her he might be less than charmed by that connection to Byron.

“Lady Lovelace. I am sure His Highness is pleased you could join him tonight.” Melbourne rose and bowed, drawling out a disinterested greeting.

“Lord Melbourne,” She said in her brisk fashion. “It is always pleasant to see you.” Ignoring both the Queen and Lady Portman, she thrust her hand forward. Melbourne looked at it, seemingly bemused, before shaking it languidly.

“Yes indeed,” Melbourne replied dreamily. Victoria bit her lip to keep from smiling. She knew him so well; knew that when he appeared his most relaxed, almost somnolent, he was energetically wishing someone in Hades.

Byron’s daughter chatted for a few minutes longer, enthusiastically describing work she was doing on the translation of an article by an Italian military engineer, on engines, Victoria thought. Perhaps a form of the locomotive engine which had so impressed Albert.

“Ah, I see Mr. Dickens is finally free. He has been quite monopolized by Miss Lind tonight. I never knew Charles to be so fond of opera.” Byron’s daughter extended her hand to Melbourne once more, who looked at it blankly. “Lord Melbourne, I hope to see you again. You must have a great deal of free time now that you are no longer Prime Minister.”

“Your Majesty, I will go in search of refreshment for you. That waiter never returned.” Melbourne sauntered away, his mild snub obvious, at least to Victoria and Emma Portman. Lady Lovelace, oblivious, watched him walk away admiringly.

Emma Portman spent the next few minutes providing her Queen some of the less savory details of Ada King-Noel’s family history beyond her paternal parentage and her own partiality for tutors and men of science.

“Your Majesty, may I present Andrew Crosse? Mr. Crosse has been doing some exciting experiments with electrocrystallization. He thinks someday electricity will be everywhere, stored for use in great repositories he calls batteries.” Albert’s friend George presented another guest.

“How interesting, Mr. Crosse,” Victoria nodded encouragingly. “You must tell us more.”

“Actually Your Highness, Your Majesty, others have suggested practical applications. I am only interested in the properties.”

The next few minutes were taken up by a painstaking explanation of the principles of electricity and means for harnessing and controlling it, not a word of which Victoria understood or retained. She was finally saved by Lady Portman, who rose and cleared her throat pointedly.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty, but you recall the physician recommends you not remain in one position too long. Shall we take a turn around the room?”

Victoria smiled up at her gratefully. “Yes, of course, Emma. Excuse me, Mr. Crosse. You understand…” She allowed her very erect posture to slump into an exaggerated swaybacked slump and took her companion’s arm. They exchanged a conspiratorial glance as they strolled away.

“Emma, who is that gentleman?” Victoria looked towards the black-haired stranger she had noticed when she arrived.

“I believe that is Mr. Disraeli. A Tory MP. He quite annihilated Lord Palmerston in debate recently, so my husband said. He’s formed a group of new MPs calling themselves ‘Young England’. Why? Do you wish to meet him? I’m sure William can introduce him. I saw them speaking together while you were listening to Mr. Crosse explain the uses of electricity.”

“Principles, Emma. He does not care for its uses, he leaves that concern to others.” She dimpled. “No, I don’t particularly want to meet him. No need to trouble William. I was just curious. He is such a striking gentleman. Quite handsome.” 

“I’m sure we can find someone to present him, ma’am. Let’s ask your husband.”

Albert was deeply engrossed in conversation but he excused himself at once.

“Albert, we were curious about that gentleman there. What brings him? I understand he is a member of parliament, but does he have any special accomplishments?” Victoria asked him curiously.

“Yes indeed. Since you don’t consider politics sufficient accomplishment to attend my salon, he has also written quite a few books. I think you read Venetia? And I know we were discussing Vivian Grey just the other week. May I present him?”

The Prince Consort of Great Britain and Ireland was well-matched in height with Mr. Disraeli, but where Albert was ethereally pale, Disraeli was quite tanned. Almost like a pirate, Victoria thought fancifully. He also, Victoria thought, had the most unsettling gaze she’d ever encountered. So direct, almost improper. She almost wished for a mirror, to see if she had a spot on her face or had grown a unicorn horn. Suppressing a giggle at the image, her eyes were sparkling and bright as Albert made the introduction.

Mr. Disraeli lacked a courtier’s grace as he bowed and kissed her hand, but almost made up for it with the smile that seemed to light up his face.

“Your Majesty!” He exclaimed. “How delightful.” He held her hand a moment too long before releasing it. “I am honored to meet you. I have implored the former Prime Minister to obtain me an invitation to one of your receptions, but this is even better. We meet informally, so perhaps you will remember me.” Victoria thought he was behaving almost flirtatiously. He was clearly trying far too hard to be charming, and as is always the case, charm diminishes in direct proportion to the amount of effort expended. She abruptly wearied of the encounter.

“Why is that, Mr. Disraeli? Why do you wish us to remember you?” Victoria asked, making an effort to remain engaged in a conversation she wished was over. The gentleman was so intense she resisted an impulse to recoil.

“Because my goal is to take Lord Melbourne’s place someday. As your Prime Minister.” He seemed to expect some reaction from the Queen, perhaps for her to praise his ambition.

“Indeed?” Victoria said idly, raising an eyebrow. Albert and Lady Portman both recognized the icy supercilliousness of her expression, the regal impassivity she could put on like a mask when circumstances demanded. Albert made a futile attempt to stem the tide of Disraeli’s words, recognizing that the Queen’s patience was quite at an end, but the young Tory continued.

“Yes indeed. I was just telling Melbourne last week at Mrs. Norton’s salon, that after the debate with Palmerston I had quite made enemies on both sides of the aisle. I am a Tory only by default, my sympathies lie far more to the Left. Have you read my “ _Vindication of the English Constitution”,_ ma’am? I dislike political dogma and firmly believe we have to drag the Tory party into the 19th century one way or the other. I was afraid Melbourne still holds a grudge for that satire I published in The Times in ‘36, lacerating the feelings of the Whigs. I jest of course, about a grudge that is. Melbourne and I have spent many a late evening drinking Caroline’s brandy and finding common ground in our dislike of extremism on either side. I have shared my ambition to fill his role someday. As your Prime Minister.”

“Lately, Mr. Disraeli?” He paused at Victoria’s rather curt interruption. “Have you found your common ground lately? You are far too young, I think, to have done so too long ago.”

"I do run on, don’t I?  I fear I was something of a radical in years past. I refer to last week, last month, when I spoke of my conversations with Lord Melbourne. As I was saying, even though I published under “Runnymeade” I made no secret of the fact—“ 

“Excuse me. I do have to retire. I fear my condition quite exhausts me. It’s been most informative to meet you, Mr. Disraeli.” Victoria extended her hand once more, the gesture elegant, her features composed, a pleasant smile shaping her face. She was quite relieved at the sound of  her own voice, her light, steady tone and careful enunciation. She focused on keeping her breath slow, mentally counting each exhalation.

When Albert was able to lead his guest away, promising introduction to a celebrated actress, Victoria turned to Lady Portman, miming her ever-present back ache.

“My back really does ache so…I’m sure you understand…I will ask Lord Alfred to see me to my chambers,  Emma. You needn’t retire on my account.”

Lady Portman watched her Queen’s abrupt departure in thoughtful silence. The Queen had little patience for some of the eccentric characters who frequented Albert’s salons, and Mr. Disraeli certainly was that. And of course, in the later stages of pregnancy, carrying the weight of her child on such a small frame, she was entitled to complain of aches and pains. And yet…Lady Portman was filled with misgiving as she searched the room for Melbourne.


	32. Chapter 32

To his credit, Emma thought, Melbourne made no demur when she sharply informed him he was to escort her to her rooms in the Queen’s wing. She said nothing as they walked, she herself setting the brisk, almost marching pace.

“Are you going to explain the urgency, Emma?” He asked after ascertaining the Queen was not ill.

Lady Portman said nothing, staring straight ahead with an expression that made Melbourne fear he was about to get his ears boxed.

“Are you going to say anything?” He persisted.

“No. If I did, it would be to say you’re a fool, and to say I told you so, and neither would be productive right now,” She snapped.

Stopping outside the Queen’s apartment, Melbourne took her arm. “At least tell me what I’m walking into, Emma. Did — did something happen to upset her?”

Lady Portman huffed. “Her Majesty said nothing, only that her back ached and she wished to retire. She was quite calm. But she had been speaking with Disraeli. That man is more of a rattle even than Portman told me. He seemed determined to make an impression and I’m quite sure he did. He made mention - several times - of your visits to that woman.”

Melbourne frowned, puzzled. “Who, Emma? Don’t be so damned cryptic.”

“Don’t be an idiot, William! Do you make a habit of visiting all your past mistresses, or just the most notorious? Caroline Norton!”

Melbourne exhaled sharply. “Emma, surely you don’t think I’ve renewed that affair, do you? I’ve told you, we’ve had no intimate connection since —“

“William, it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what Victoria thinks.”

Deflated, Melbourne leaned against the wall, running his hands through his hair.

“Do you think she believes that?”

“William, use your brain. The Queen is twenty one years old. She loves you to distraction. She’s carrying your child. She’s risked everything for you. And she hears from a stranger that you spend evenings at the home of a woman with whom you had an affair. What do you imagine she thinks?” Lady Portman’s own expression refused to soften, even as she saw the distress in his eyes.

“Emma, I never once allowed that woman to be alone with me. I did nothing to encourage her. I told you I dined at her home occasionally, always in company. Attended her salons only a few times since I left office.”

“‘Never allowed’ her to be alone with you?” Lady Portman asked sharply. “So she’s tried to renew your...affection?”

“No...yes, I suppose so. She’s made it clear..she’s written me... Emma, I think - I hope - you know I desire no one but Victoria. I finally have everything I’ve ever dreamed of, a woman I love who wants only me, another chance to be a father. Do you think I would jeopardize all that to renew a liaison with a woman who takes a different lover every week? Good God, what kind of fool do you take me for?”

“I suppose, William, the kind of fool who finds himself in a perfectly predictable mess. Go in to her. She will rage and scream and probably break some precious objects. Endure it. And for God’s sake, William, cut off all contact with that woman, her house, her friends. Especially that disingenuous Benjamin Disraeli. His performance tonight was no accident. He meant to cause you just this trouble.”

There was no shouting, no thrown objects, not even a cross word.

When Melbourne crossed the drawing room, he saw no light from the Queen’s bedchamber. He looked in and almost didn’t see her. She was sitting in the window seat in the dark, wrapped in a dark dressing gown, her hair almost black in the meagre light of an overcast night sky. Victoria sat with her legs drawn up, resting against cushions. Beside her lay the telescope he’d once given her.

Melbourne sat beside her, waiting, anticipating the tirade she would unleash. Preparing his explanation, to rationalize a ridiculous unthinking choice. He knew his conscience was clear of the ultimate betrayal - he’d never even been tempted - but his unceasing hunger for affection, even affection he no longer reciprocated, had made him seem guilty of far worse than mere stupidity.

“Emma told you I retired early. I find I tire quite easily.” 

“Emma also told me that you might be distressed.” Melbourne said carefully.

She turned to look at him with an expression she hoped conveyed mild surprise.

“Did she? I can’t imagine why. Certainly this fatigue and my back aches are quite vexing but everyone tells me that is all to be expected. England must have its heir.”

Victoria smiled pleasantly, as though they met in a drawing room. She stretched out her legs and stood, holding her dressing gown closed over her swollen abdomen.

“Good night,” She said, once more in a light, impersonal tone. 

Melbourne studied her face, feeling that she had somehow disappeared in plain sight, behind a pleasant, smiling mask.

“Victoria...” He tried once again. 

“I am really quite exhausted. I’m sure I will be refreshed in the morning but right now, all I can think of is sleep.” Melbourne knew himself to be dismissed with this seemingly mild statement.

“Good night, then. We can talk in the morning.” He hesitated, wanting to reach for her, to bridge the divide he felt forming, not knowing how since she provided no opening. Perhaps she was right; perhaps she was only fatigued, weary of the physical demands of pregnancy, overstimulated by the evening. Perhaps tomorrow everything would be all right.

When she was alone, Victoria methodically removed her slippers and set them next to the bed, taking care to arrange them just so, toes in perfect alignment. She slipped off her silk dressing gown and laid it at the foot of the bed, straightening its folds almost tenderly. Victoria made each move with great deliberation, certain she must maintain perfect control, choose each movement with the greatest care lest her mind, her heart, her very world shatter into a million sharp pieces.

She gingerly lowered herself to her knees beside the great bed, folded her hands and whispered the bedtime prayers dear Lehzen had taught her so long ago. Finally, feeling quite ungainly - so large, with this ridiculous protrusion threatening to tip her off balance, she thought - Victoria put herself to bed.

Lying in the dark under the weight of an eiderdown duvet, Victoria expected tears to come, or her old friend rage to sweep over her. Instead she felt preternaturally calm, even reflective.

With almost tender affection for her much younger self, Victoria remembered how jealousy had felt, the ire she’d displayed so openly when her dear Lord M dined at Holland House rather than the palace, when he spoke overlong to another lady in her presence. So long ago! She’d been a mere child then, her older self thought now, just 18 and infatuated with her Prime Minister. She’d tried to convince herself then, had dutifully noted in her diaries, that she was impressed by his noble qualities, his kindness, his goodness, his wisdom. While she’d certainly appreciated his pithy sayings, the delightful epigrams with which he’d explained some complex matter, the witty way in which he could sum up a person or situation and make her giggle, that wasn’t the entirety of her admiration.

Victoria felt herself stir, even now, as she remembered the first time she’d seen him. Remembered catching her breath, all unaware, as she looked out her window, seeing him arrive, the way he’d slung his leg over his horse’s head and nimbly dismounted before the animal had fully stopped. She recalled the grace with which he’d strode into her room, knelt and kissed her hand. Looked at her with that hint of a smile twitching his mouth. Later, she would study his beautiful face endlessly, but that first time she’d only felt an electric shock course through her.

Victoria had known few men. John Conroy. The servants at Kensington. Her Uncle King and Uncle Leopold. The elderly Ministers who had been first to declare her Queen. When her Prime Minister knelt before her, Victoria could only feel amazement that he was of the same species as those others. Lord Melbourne was so devastatingly handsome, beautiful really. Those large, expressive green eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes, the sharp cheekbones, chiseled features. Curling dark hair touched with silver threads, never pomaded, always just slightly disheveled. Victoria had imagined what it would be like to run her fingers through his hair as he so often did himself. She dreamed of caressing that beautiful face. When she was finally able, she would stroke and kiss every inch of it, memorizing his features with her fingertips as a sightless person might. “All mine,” She recalled saying with innocent certainty only hours before, as he’d held her.

Victoria also remembered Mama’s warning, that he was a stealer of hearts and must not steal hers. Of course, Mama failed to explain just how to prevent that. Her warning came far too late.

Finally the tears flowed.


	33. Chapter 33

Snow had fallen during the night. The world beyond the palace windows seemed muffled under its white blanket, still and waiting for what might come next.

Melbourne had spent another restless night, trying to read when sleep failed him, steadily emptying the decanter of brandy next to his chair. Watching flames dance in the hearth, looking far more festive than he felt. As he’d spent so many nights before.

He sorely missed those precious hours with Victoria, in her bed, making love, whispering in the darkness for no reason other than whispers felt more intimate, more sacred, than speaking aloud. Discussing the minutiae of his own days, everything seeming more colorful, interesting, worth the doing, when he shared it with her. Holding her until she slept and he could gently loosen the grip of the small hand that clung to him. He tried not to count the number of days since he’d last felt himself welcome in her private apartments.

_The morning after Albert’s salon Victoria had joined her household in the breakfast room somewhat late, but looking quite...normal. Her eyes were clear, her face composed, hair smoothed neatly into a daytime chignon. She ate little, as was her custom taking only coffee and a piece of dry toast. Sir James Clarke, the Royal physician, was now in residence as her confinement neared, and he clucked about her need to eat more “for the child,” as he appended nearly everything he uttered. ___

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_Melbourne had followed her to her private study, resolved to allow her to vent whatever anger she felt, express whatever doubts she had. When he entered the familiar space where they had spent many hours she was seated at her desk, idly sketching on some official document. Melbourne smirked, looking over her shoulder. “I’m sure your decorative touch will enliven Peel’s day, ma’am.” ___

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_Victoria’s smile was remote and mechanical. “Indeed, I hope he shares your opinion but I fear he will not.” She laid down her pen and pushed the paper away. ___

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_Seeing her look up at him expectantly, Melbourne cleared his throat. “Victoria.” ___

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_”Yes?” Again, that cool, pleasant tone. ___

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_“Victoria, Emma told me what Disraeli said. About...about his meeting with me...in town.” Dammit, man, he cursed himself. You sound guilty already and you’re not, really. You must make her see that. ___

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_“About our encounters at the Norton woman’s salons.” ___

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_“You know I frequent many such gatherings. At Holland House and...elsewhere. It’s a way to keep in touch, to know what’s being said, to...dammit, Victoria. Ma’am. Would you look at me?” Her eyes widened a bit in pretended surprise. ___

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_“I thought I was. If that is all you wish to say, it is not necessary to continue. I am not...distressed, no matter what Emma told you. Is there anything else you wish to discuss? Otherwise I must finish these papers.” Yet again, he was politely dismissed. She was the Queen and he was helpless to object. ___

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_So well did they manage to conduct the private aspects of their relationship discreetly, that no change was remarked upon by even those closest to Victoria. Melbourne still dined at the palace most evenings – more, in fact, than had been his recent custom. He joined the household – Victoria and her ladies-in-waiting, Albert, his brother and companions, the Duchess of Kent, any of the numerous cousins who might be visiting – after dinner in the drawing room. They played cards, a billiard game was always in progress, someone or another always shared the latest scandal, Melbourne was asked his opinion on news from the Continent. Victoria frequently retired earlier than her guests, pleading the exigencies of her condition and declining all offers to accompany her. ___

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Albert insisted on decorating the Palace for Christmas. Victoria’s mother had always made the season festive, decorating a small fir “Christmas tree” in addition to the more familiar British Yule log. Albert expanded the tradition enthusiastically. One evening after dinner he recruited the family and an army of servants in ensuring no corner of the Palace was bare of ornamentation. 

Victoria declined active participation. She propped her feet on the sofa, reclining under a light shawl, and watched them scurry about merrily. Melbourne took a seat beside her.

Victoria looked at his melancholy expression, at odds with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. She suddenly wished that everything could be restored to normalcy, missed their easy banter, the sense that they were a team and with him at her side she was indomitable. Respite from the hollow feeling that had dogged her most of her life, that she was quite alone and could rely only on herself.

When that longing become nearly unbearable, an image of John Conroy came to her. Looming, berating, mocking, controlling everything around her. Wanting to control her. As much as Melbourne had taught Victoria, Conroy had been the unwitting source of every lesson that formed her being. Her pride, her indomitable will. An absolute intolerance of ridicule. The molten steel at her very core. The icy mask behind which she’d learned to hide her true feelings.

“Victoria…” Melbourne said her name softly, a whispered prayer. “Can we leave them to their Christmas merriment and steal away? We must talk.”

“Why?” Victoria was unable to meet his eyes, aware it would be the undoing of her resolve.

“I think you know why,” He answered, his voice hoarse. “Nothing has been the same since that damned Disraeli spoke to you. We both know that. Please, acknowledge it.”

Victoria held up her hand to stop him. “I do not wish to discuss this.”

“Victoria, stop. Look at me. We must put this behind us. Don’t you want that?” Melbourne’s voice cracked; he cleared his throat.

“I did not attend to anything Mr. Disraeli said. As I recall, he ran on quite tediously.” She paused, casting about for a way to make her point more clearly. “Frankly, I do not recall which one he was. Was he the gentleman interested in electromagnetism and batteries? Or the one who wanted to become my Prime Minister?”

Quite abruptly, Melbourne burst out laughing. How she loved that wonderful laugh! Victoria thought, the way in which he could find humor at the most unlikely situations and give himself over completely to unabashed amusement. 

“Ma’am, you go too far. Always avoid embellishment, when you wish to convince someone of a falsehood.” Victoria bit her lip to avoid giggling, then remembered and quickly composed herself.

Melbourne felt momentary hope when he thought she might laugh, before he saw that imperceptible blankness slide into place.

“I will retire now. Good night…Lord Melbourne.” Victoria stood quickly and hurried from the room.

When she entered her private suite, she was relieved to see Miss Skerrett, her faithful dresser, waiting. She liked the young woman, appreciated her nonjudgmental, incurious presence. She trusted her, as much as a Queen could trust anyone who served her. Skerrett’s capable, familiar hands were soothing as she poured hot water, provided a soft cloth, undid the many buttons at the back of her dress. Victoria was calmed enough to be able to collect her thoughts.

Victoria was not angry with Melbourne, not exactly. Her love for him was undiminished, her need for him – her body’s need, even at this stage in her pregnancy, and the equally clamorous need of her mind, her very soul to be one with him – was intact. What angered and deeply frightened Victoria was her own powerlessness in the grip of such love. Victoria could not bear to be controlled, and this overwhelming sensation of her very mind being subject to something outside herself, subject to the actions of another person, was so alien as to demand violent resistance.

She didn’t have the words to discuss this with him, didn’t even know if it made sense, if others were so unwilling to surrender themselves into another’s hands to be hurt. When Victoria imagined Melbourne with that woman, she imagined them laughing at her, ridiculing her as naïve, ignorant of the unspoken rules of society that took this kind of thing for granted. If Melbourne had not done so, she knew with certainty Mrs. Norton had. The woman was a prolific writer, had written letters sneering at Melbourne’s attention to duty, calling Victoria “the Royal girl.” Victoria had heard, and overheard, enough chatter to know Mrs. Norton considered herself the one true love of Melbourne’s life and his attachment to Victoria, only duty and ambition. By his presence alone, he had condoned lèse-majesté. How could she, Victoria, permit such ridicule, such offense to her dignity?

On some level, even as her conscious mind protested, Victoria felt that he truly had not been sexually intimate with that woman since he had become her lover. Or perhaps even, since he had become her Prime Minister. Victoria resisted the urge to accept that, she did not want to delude herself as he had deluded her, but it was not uppermost in her mind. No, it was that he had continued to visit, and conceal his visits, had by definition shared at least that secret with his Mrs. Norton at her expense.

And yet…when Victoria tried to follow where these thoughts led her, it was to the inevitable conclusion that what was unbearable must not be borne. When she tried to imagine a future without him at her side, her mind recoiled. She needed him, and despised herself for needing him as Mama had needed Sir John.

Melbourne waited only briefly, before quietly slipping out of the drawing room while the others were clustered around the great evergreen tree Albert had the grounds men drag inside. He followed the path Victoria had taken and slipped into her apartment.

Victoria was in her bedchamber, head resting in her hands as though she were deep in thought, or weeping. Her maid was removing the pins holding her coiled braids in place. Melbourne walked in, not with deliberate stealth but also not announcing himself. The maid opened her mouth to speak but Melbourne shook his head and gestured to the door.

Victoria didn’t immediately register his presence. When she did, the energy in the room changed, became charged.

Melbourne deftly removed the last hairpins and unwound her braids, spreading the dark waves over her shoulders like a cape. Victoria held herself very still but didn’t pull away as he began gently running a brush through her hair. His brush strokes were slow and methodical, and he felt the tension leave her body. She sighed, keeping her back to him, and leaned against his chest.

He put down the brush and gently slid his hands up and down her arms, then in soft circles over her breasts and the hard mound of her abdomen. When he lifted her hair to kiss her neck softly, Victoria whimpered. With sadness, not passion, he recognized, his heart breaking a little for her. Still not turning to face him, she whispered softly, “I don’t know how to do this, William.”

“Then I will teach you. We will learn together.” How easy it was, she thought, that they could speak volumes and say little. He always understood her.

“I don’t know how to make myself vulnerable, to let you hurt me and continue to love.” Victoria said.

“Sweetheart, I never meant to hurt you. But no matter my intentions…I did. Loving someone never comes without pain. I am afraid too. I know how very painful it can be.” She turned then, looking at him, and he saw the assumption in her eyes. “I meant only loving you, ma’am. I find I can no longer remember…anything that came before.” Melbourne lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly.

“You fear I might hurt you?” She asked wonderingly. He huffed a small laugh. 

“How could I not, ma’am? Setting aside that you are the Queen, you are a very young woman and I am…not a very young man. You are someone else’s wife. I have no claim to you or my child. When we encounter difficulties, you can banish me from your presence and I have no recourse. Of course I fear being hurt in loving you. But it is a bargain worth making. Not that I have a choice in the matter. Loving you is…what I was always meant to do, the purpose of my existence.”

Victoria’s eyes widened in surprise. “I did not know…I thought I was the one who…I could never love any man but you.”

“Thank you for that. Even so, I will become very old, and you will still be young and beautiful. I will not see our child grow to adulthood, most likely. I will die knowing that you will go on to find another love.” He spoke matter-of-factly. Victoria’s eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t say that! You are not old, and will not leave me.”

“Sshhhh, my darling. I didn’t mean to sound gloomy, only pragmatic.” He led her to the big bed, sat and gently pulled her down to lean against him.

“Please, can we put this behind us? Will you for once let me speak my piece so this can be over?” He asked, his lips against her hair.

“I do not want to discuss—“ He interrupted her, laying a finger against her lips.

“But I do, just once. If you have any questions, if you want to add to the tongue-lashing Emma has already dished out and my sister supplemented, then it will be your turn.”

As he spoke, he kissed her hair, caressed her, needing physical contact to reassure her and himself. To prevent her slipping away again.

“I avoided Mrs. Norton completely for years after the trial. Because of the scandal, yes, because she’d lost her sons and her reputation for me, but also because it became clear she came to view our connection far differently than I did. In her mind, it became a great love. I never intended that, never deluded her. I thought she understood the rules. How such affairs are conducted.

When I again entered her house it was always with someone else, Stanhope, Brougham, my nephew. I suppose because it seemed to refuse would make more of it than to simply go along. I knew – and if I hadn’t, Emma certainly warned me - that my dining there, attending her salons occasionally, would be misconstrued. It seemed simpler to not say anything. I hardly made it a regular custom. And Victoria, I swear to you on everything I care about in the world – for that’s what’s at stake here – I never had an intimate relationship with her or anyone else since I became more than just your Prime Minister. I was never tempted, never even noticed another woman in that context again. All I see is you.”

Victoria exhaled a deep ragged breath. “How many others? How many ladies who come to court, dine at the Palace, see you in society regularly, have been your mistresses? Who are they? Do I know them? You said if I had any questions—“

Melbourne resisted an urge to smile. She was indeed very young, painfully so, her face turned up expectantly, awaiting an answer she thought would satisfy her. “Suffice it to say, many. No others who imagine they could rekindle an affair at this point, none who are a threat to us in any way.

Victoria, I am more than old enough to be your father. I have been with many women whilst I was waiting for you.” He turned her face up so she was forced to meet his eyes. “You are not the first, ma’am, but you will be the last. Can you accept that?”

“I need you to be honest with me, William. You go out into the world every day, as I can not. You have a whole life out there while I remain locked away in this palace like some strange bird in a golden cage. I need you to understand what that is like for me.”

He lifted her hand, kissed her fingertips, toyed with the signet ring she wore over her plain wedding band. His ring, Albert’s ring.

Melbourne felt her stiffen suddenly. He looked at her with concern as she doubled over, panting and grimacing. When she looked up again her eyes were wide with pain and fear.

“I think…the child is coming.”


	34. Chapter 34

The very air seemed suffused with calm. A few rays of light from the setting sun touched everything with a golden glow. Melbourne sat back in his chair in the Queen’s bedchamber and savored the peace.

At the Prince Consort’s order, displaying neither enthusiasm nor too-obvious reluctance, Baroness Lehzen placed the swaddled infant in Melbourne’s arms. She retreated watchfully to a chair on the other side of the Queen’s great bed.

Melbourne found the movements returned quite automatically, as he adjusted position slightly to settle the babe. It had been, he calculated, more years than the Queen had been alive, since he’d last held his own newborn.

“So...let me see the little troublemaker whose arrival caused such commotion.” Albert leaned his arm on the back of the chair and looked over Melbourne’s shoulder. “Introduce me to your son. Our son,” He added almost flirtatiously. Melbourne smiled up at the Prince, liking him greatly. He felt deep gratitude and much admiration for the way the Prince had taken control during the last horrible hours.

Melbourne moved a fold of soft blanket away from his child’s face. “Your Serene Highness, may I present your heir?”

Both men gazed with something like wonder at the tiny child, sleeping peacefully on Melbourne’s lap. Soft dark feathers of hair, downy skin, fist the size of a walnut tucked under chin.

“Your Highness...thank you. For everything. How did you know Semmelweiss was the man to bring this off? That it wouldn’t end in a need for surgical intervention or...worse?” Melbourne whispered.

Albert shrugged a little, smiling sheepishly.

“You’d done your bit. I thought it was my turn to step up. And now that we have our child, the heir your government wanted...I believe the marriage contract stipulates my allowance be doubled?” Albert trilled soft laughter and clapped the other man’s shoulder.

* * *

 

Melbourne and Victoria had passed the first night of her labor together in peaceful solitude. A birthing suite had been prepared, and physicians were in residence awaiting their call to duty. Sir James Clarke, jealous of his prerogative, equally mindful of the fate of his predecessor Croft, had welcomed a prominent Harley Street surgeon and, less graciously, a young Viennese obstetrician present at the insistence of Victoria’s family. Robert Ferguson was appointed physician-accoucheur and superintended the endeavor, having attended the Queen throughout her pregnancy. Victoria’s contractions were well-spaced for most of the night, and mild enough - though she would have vigorously disputed that characterization - that she could talk throughout. Melbourne knew how terrified she was of the ordeal ahead, and reckoned that it was not yet necessary to surrender her to the care of others. Instead he judged it best to soothe and comfort her and keep her calm so she could marshal her strength.

She dozed between pains, and when a contraction gripped her, begged him to talk to her. He recounted amusing anecdotes, told her stories of his childhood. At one point she hesitantly asked about his son’s birth. He recounted Caroline’s labor - she had been just Victoria’s age, young and healthy, hadn’t suffered unduly, and delivered an apparently healthy child after just twelve hours’ labor. He vaguely remembered her cries, but his mother had been present to take charge and it had seemed, then and now, that if Elizabeth Lamb was in charge, nothing but a happy outcome was possible. As he described his mother and the brisk manner with which she had instilled confidence in Caro then, he suddenly wished with a pang she could be with him now.

At daybreak, over Victoria’s protests, Melbourne had decided it was time and sent a page to summon Prince Albert. As her husband, he would formally inform the doctors and the court that the birth of England’s heir was underway.

“Lord M,” Victoria whispered plaintively. Her eyes were wide and shining in the dim light of dawn. “I’m so frightened.” Melbourne hesitated, wanting to comfort her, not willing to dismiss her fears.

“I know, ma’am.” He noted how they both reverted to that earlier form of address as a most intimate expression of the bond they shared. “But I also know how much courage you have.”

“Please don’t leave me.” She winced and inhaled sharply as a contraction tightened its grip. “Don’t let them separate us.”

Of course, they were separated. Both Melbourne and the Prince Consort were relegated to the anteroom as Her Majesty was whisked into the birthing suite and quickly surrounded by a phalanx of attendants. The chamber was already overwarm, steam condensed on the window glass from the fire burning to keep hot water at the ready. Dr. Semmelweiss, the young obstetrician who had arrived with Victoria’s Uncle Leopold just the evening before, was a fanatic on the subject of cleanliness in a birthing chamber. He insisted on thorough washing of hands with clean water as hot as could be tolerated and his own chlorine lime solution. Only the combined insistence of the Prince Consort, his uncle and the Queen’s mother gained grudging compliance from the British medical men. Leopold’s presence was a solemn reminder of the childbirth tragedy two decades earlier, one that eroded just a bit of the English doctors’ arrogance.

Still, the Englishmen would provide primary care to the Queen while their Continental colleague must defer to them.

After that first rush to examine the Queen and get her settled, the hours passed in tedium. The Queen at first was quite vocal in complaint each time a pain came and demanded a tincture of laudanum to ease her discomfort. She was quite herself, stridently demanding – outraged when denied food, until some was brought, then promptly throwing it back up; cursing when denied sufficient laudanum to obliterate all pain. By noon, all talk had stopped and she only screamed, crying out piteously, her voice hoarse.

Albert excused himself to rest, strongly encouraging Melbourne to do likewise, after Dr. Ferguson came out to assure them that Her Majesty no nearer to delivery.

Confident he would be summoned if needed, Albert stayed away for the day. When he returned much later, Melbourne seemingly hadn’t moved. “No change?” Albert murmured.

“No, Your Highness. Not that I’m aware. It has been quiet for a while. I think the Queen sleeps.”

Albert looked at Melbourne, then his uncle, who had followed him in, questioning. “Is this normal? That the thing just stops so the Queen may have a nap?”

“I don’t think it was the Queen’s wish to rest that is slowing the process. I wish we knew more, ” Melbourne answered uneasily. His own role was so tenuous, he was maddened by his own inability to seek out information. The Home Secretary and Chancellor must witness the birth; a mere MP and former Prime Minister had no such part to play and his very presence had already been met with skepticism.

“I will go in,” The Prince said. Melbourne and Leopold watched him open the heavy doors and stride into the birthing chamber.

Leopold gave Melbourne a few sidelong glances, but spared him any comment. The Prince Consort’s acceptance extended a mantle of protection, no matter how meagre, and Melbourne wished to avoid any open contention.

When Albert returned, he addressed both men. “The doctors agree, the Queen’s labor is not progressing and she is tiring. More than just lack of sleep…they say her heartbeat, and the child’s are slowing. They say they are not alarmed, but have sent for another specialist. A…cardiology specialist, Dr. James Hope.”

Melbourne felt his first twinge of real fear. He looked at Leopold, who had likewise stiffened, looking grim.

“Albert,” The Belgian king said urgently. “You must not allow them to wait too long. As they did for poor Charlotte. Doctors are sometimes too cautious, afraid to do the wrong thing, until it is too late.”

Sometime after midnight, the Queen’s cries grew more anguished. She no longer pleaded, swore, commanded. She only howled, like an animal dying in a trap, unceasing crescendos that made all three men wince.

Dr. Clarke came out to speak to her husband. “The Queen is in more distress, as you can hear. It was Dr. Hope’s opinion that excess laudanum was slowing her heart, and the uterine contractions which expel the child.” He hesitated. “My own opinion, Your Highness, is that the degree of pain which Her Majesty now experiences is more detrimental to her heart, which is now racing quite alarmingly. I would like to administer opium tincture, a purer more potent form of analgesic. She must have relief from the pain so her body does not resist the progression of the birth.” Clarke paused, looking at the three men watching him. “The child is not yet in the birth canal. It remains too high to be reached even with…instruments.”

“What does that mean, for the Queen?” Melbourne asked sharply. Clarke seemed taken aback that the man with the least reason to address such an issue would do so, but he answered. “It means that at present the only way in which we could remove the child, to end the Queen’s labor, would be surgical intervention.”

Albert looked at Melbourne and his uncle, knowing that only he had the right, the duty, to take charge.

“If such a thing became necessary, how would it be done?” He demanded. “Please, be precise.”

The physician appeared deeply uncomfortable having to describe such a procedure, but he had no choice. “If the decision is made to save the child, an incision is made across the Queen’s abdomen, her uterus is pierced and the child is removed.”

“And this is safe for mother and child?”

Ferguson swallowed hard. “There is a very good possibility that if the child is otherwise well-formed and in good health, it will survive. For the mother…it is a very dangerous procedure. Blood loss, infection, shock to the body. You understand we could not guarantee the Queen’s survival.”

Silence rang in Melbourne’s ears. He knew he must say something. Albert looked to him first. “The Queen must survive, Your Highness,” He managed to croak hoarsely.

Albert demanded, “And if we wish to save the Queen?”

“Then, Your Highness, the surgeon can…attempt…to remove the child…through the birth canal, with instruments.” He cast about, looking desperately for something to relieve him of the need to continue. “The child is removed…by any means necessary. Not intact, Your Highness. It’s skull is crushed with instruments and…you understand…?” Albert paled and looked again to Melbourne for direction.

The King of the Belgians, once so close to the British throne himself, looked at Melbourne almost kindly.

“Lord Melbourne, you must send for the Home Secretary and the Prime Minister. It is time to discuss a regency, should the child survive and my niece…not. And I think, to summon the King of Hanover.” Cumberland, of course, the next in line if neither Victoria nor her child survived. Leopold’s eyes met Melbourne’s, conveying sympathy. He acknowledged Melbourne’s role, however grudgingly, and understood better than any other what he faced.

Melbourne heard the words but at first could not make sense of them. When the meaning became clear in his addled mind, it struck him with the force of a body blow.

He nodded curtly to Leopold and looked to Albert. “You must go in and see the Queen, talk to her if you can and ascertain her wishes. If you can not, then you must decide. As her husband. But…the Queen must survive. Nothing else matters.”

Melbourne dashed off notes in his study and summoned couriers. One to each Government official, and one to the Duke of Cumberland, telling them only they must come to the Palace at once. He could write no more. He put his head in his hands and uttered a prayer, to the Divine Being Whose existence he barely credited, to his mother, even to Caro, if the spirits of those who loved him indeed watched over him. Then he wept.

Albert left Leopold standing in the anteroom, pushed past Ferguson and Clarke and strode once more into the birthing room where Victoria labored. The Queen appeared insensate, a low keening moan sounding with each shallow exhalation. Albert clapped his hands for attention.

“I think it is time we determine how best to proceed. We can not allow the Queen to…continue this way,” He said firmly. The physicians began talking, gesticulating, each determined to be heard above the others. The surgeon who would implement what decision was reached held himself aloof, understanding that whatever the outcome he would be the villain this night.

Albert listened carefully to each man in turn. All but Dr. Semmelweiss had spoken. “And you, sir? What is your opinion?” He demanded.

Semmelweiss, a young obstetrician just recently appointed to his first faculty position in Vienna, cleared his throat and addressed Albert in High German. “I believe there is one more thing we can try, Your Highness. It will not be…popular with Her Majesty, but it will not cause harm I think. One hour more, if we try this. Then, if there has been no progress, I will concur with my esteemed colleagues.”

“English, man!” Ferguson snapped. “Your Highness, what does this man say?”

Albert held himself up and addressed the physician most regally. “He says that we must not give up. We will try his suggestion. One hour,” Albert said emphatically. “For one hour I put my wife in your hands. Then…we do what we must to save the Queen.”

Albert brusquely shoved all others from the room, closing and – at Semmelweiss’ suggestion – locking the big double doors. He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and donned a bleached linen smock the doctor handed him. Finally, they approached the bed.

Victoria looked up them pleadingly.

The doctor lifted her from the pillow and passed smelling salts under her nose. Victoria recoiled, protesting, and tried to lay back down on her pillow. “Now, Madame, you must get up.” Victoria turned her head away. At the doctor’s nod, each man lifted her to her feet and forced her to stand.

“Madame, we must walk.”

And walk they did. Around and around the room, refusing to do more than provide her balance, forcing Victoria to march about the chamber, insisting she stand when waves of pain threatened to bring her to her knees. She howled, moaned, whimpered, whipping her head from side to side. Albert wasn’t certain how much time had passed – surely almost the hour? – when she caught her breath mid-scream and formed a shocked “O” with her mouth. Looking down, they saw the puddle of fluid forming at her feet. Semmelweiss led her to the bed, but instead of allowing her to lay down, he forced her down still on her feet, until she squatted in ungainly position against the mattress. Albert let her lean against him, sweat soaking his shirt, running down his face from the exertion of keeping her upright while the doctor performed a quick examination. “Gravity and her own muscles must now do the work,” Semmelweiss said. Albert had a moment to reflect that it was wise fathers were not allowed to be present at birthing. Had he ever harbored a trace of carnal lust for a woman, such a feeling would not survive this proximity to the result.

“Now, Madame, push.” The doctor imitated the movement he sought and Victoria instinctively complied. Some few minutes later, he nodded to Albert, satisfied. “It is time.”

They quickly helped Victoria lay down and arranged the sheets to protect her modesty as much as they could for what was to come. When Albert flung open the doors, he was nearly toppled by those eager to see inside. The other physicians shouldered past him, and those required to witness the birth – Home Secretary Sir James Graham, Lord Chancellor Lord Lyndhurst – assumed prime positions at the front of the queue. The Duchess of Kent and her daughter Princess Feodora, King Leopold and his wife Louise-Marie, daughter of the French King. The Duke of Cumberland, looking disgruntled as it became apparent no tragedy was imminent. Farther back, unable to see within, Melbourne stood with Peel, Albert’s brother Prince Ernst and the Ladies-in-Waiting. He preferred not to jostle for position, preferred not to be subject to scrutiny during the announcement.

A gasp sounded in unison from those who could see, and shortly after Albert relayed the information they were all waiting for. “Her Majesty has been safely delivered of a prince.”

* * *

 

“We must announce the name,” Melbourne said. He and Victoria had discussed the matter several times. Naming a child who would be sovereign depended on many diplomatic and dynastic considerations. He waited now, content enough to hold the warm swaddled miracle in his arms as Victoria slept, the final decision left to the Prince Consort

Albert pursed his lips, pantomiming deep thought, but of course such a weighted decision had already been made.

“This child will be called...William Albert Augustus. William, after the late King of course.” Albert’s dark eyes twinkled. “Albert, for yours truly…” He made an elegant little bow. “And Augustus...for his brother.”

Melbourne felt tears come, wiped them away with the back of his hand.

“And now I will leave you. I feel as though I’ve been confined in this place for a year. I must restore nature. My friends have arranged a small celebration at an establishment in Vere Street. I’ve been told of a new club we really must patronize before the Runners close it down. I will drink to the boy’s health.” Albert put on a show of insouciance at odds with the tender expression in his eyes. He waved a long white hand and stepped out through a small door tucked discreetly behind a velvet tapestry, which lead to a seldom-used hallway and Melbourne’s own apartments. By doing so, he had provided a few minutes’ more privacy to sit alone with Victoria and the child, only faithful Lehzen as chaperone.

When he felt the infant stir, saw blue eyes fixed on his face, Melbourne tenderly stroked the velvety soft cheek. He chuckled when a tiny fist batted against his finger and grabbed hold. He whispered loving nonsense that seemed to fascinate the very new little being in his arms.

Melbourne looked up a light touch on his shoulder. The Baroness stood behind him, with just the hint of a smile on her stern face.

“We must give him to the nurses now, Lord Melbourne.” She hesitated, averting her gaze. “You should rest. I think you have not yet done so. You have been in attendance for the past two days.”

“I might say the same, Baroness.” He wanted to thank her for her devotion to the Queen, knew how inappropriate, how presumptuous that would be toward this loyal woman whose love for the Queen had long preceded his own. He surrendered his son to her waiting arms. She finally met his eyes and they exchanged a look, each acknowledging the other’s devotion to the Queen, the woman, they both loved.

When they were alone, Melbourne turned to the Queen. Victoria lay in her own bed, sleeping peacefully. Her color had returned, her maid had brushed the sweaty tangles from her hair and dressed her in a fresh gown. He wanted so badly to touch her hand, kiss her gently, but Melbourne feared waking her as much as he respected the strictures of Dr. Semmelweiss. No one was permitted to touch Her Majesty without careful hand washing and use of chlorinated lime. Of course Melbourne had done so before passing from the outer chamber, and donning the fresh bleached linen smock that was de rigueur to be in the Queen’s presence, yet the ever-present fear of puerperal fever and the doctor’s talk of contagion restrained him.

Victoria seemed to sense him quietly standing over her bed, as each so often sensed the other’s nearness. She opened her eyes, smiled at him sleepily, and caught his hand in hers.

“Sit with me, Lord M,” She whispered.

“I ought not, ma’am. The doctor would not approve—“

Victoria blanched. “I did not mean — I fear I cannot—why do you laugh?”

“I know you did not mean that. That, I’m quite aware, must wait for some time. I refer to the physician who has taken charge of your care. Ask him to explain his theories on contagion and need to avoid contamination. He believes fever is transmitted by contact and insists we scrub our hands thoroughly before and after each visit.” Melbourne sat cautiously on the very edge of her bed, the better to meet her eyes. “How do you feel, Victoria?”

“All right...” She sounded doubtful. “Quite sore. Oh, Lord M, the whole process was horrible! Much worse than anyone warned me! I felt like an animal...” Victoria shuddered. “But our child is well?”

“Yes, ma’am. A beautiful boy. Somewhat small, as to be expected, a week early and born to a very petite mama, but perfect in every way.”

Victoria sighed and looked up at him, frowning. “I think I do not wish to do this again...?” She framed it as a question.

“Then we must ensure it.” Melbourne smiled reassuringly, turning his hand so he was holding hers.

“I don’t mean I want us to not be together. Only...”

“We will manage, ma’am. There are ways. Now you must rest. I confess I am quite exhausted also.”

“Poor Lord M. I fear I was quite a beast to everyone, even you. I am sorry!” Victoria yawned, and sighed. “Go sleep now, William. You look quite exhausted. Thank you for not leaving me to do this alone.”

“Leave you, ma’am? Never!” Melbourne leaned forward and dared to kiss her forehead lightly, hoping no Viennese physician apprehended him.

When Melbourne entered his own apartment, he heard a commotion and went to the window. As soon as the Home Secretary and Lord Chancellor had witnessed the birth, they had left to spread the news.

The bells of Westminster were peeling over the City, announcing the birth of a prince, and the great guns of the Tower joined those in Hyde Park in salute. Crowds were jubilantly assembled in the streets and he heard those outside Buckingham Palace cheering raucously.

All for the birth of his own child, he marveled. How strange fate was, to lead him through those passionate, tumultuous days with Caro, through the troubled life and heartbreaking death of his son – past so many points in time when he came so close to utter despair, thinking his own life no longer had meaning - to this place. Beloved of a great Queen and now father to the prince who would someday reign over their island nation and her dominions across the world. Through Melbourne’s adoration for his Victoria, this child, God willing, and his line would continue down through time.

More important than the child’s destiny, to Melbourne, was that he would be on hand watching the boy grow. Victoria had been vociferous in her determination that, as Albert would be “Father”, he would be “Papa” to their child. As the boy grew, surrounded by the security of a loving family, he would accept its configuration quite naturally, knowing no other.

Melbourne turned away from the window and poured a brandy to quiet his mind enough for sleep. He wanted to be on hand when Victoria woke in the mornng, when they brought the babe in, when the household gathered in her apartment later to celebrate. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

+++

 

[Soft Focus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162206/chapters/30103167)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading my first effort. When I read of Melbourne's last, sad years in that reality I decided I would try to do better:)


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